As They Rise and Fall
by Butterfly Conlon
Summary: They were best friends, soul mates, lovers. Bound by the soul for life through harrowing heartbreak and unrelenting tragedy alike. Yet out of their story, there is the rise of Brooklyn and the fall of a tormented soul.
1. As They Rise and Fall

AS THEY RISE AND FALL

It's been a while

Since I could

Hold my head up high

And It's been a while

Since I first saw you

And It's been a while

Since I could stand

on my own two feet again

And it's been a while

Since I could call you

And everything I can't remember

As fucked up as it all may seem

The consequences that i've rendered

I stretched myself beyond my means

And It's been a while

Since I can say

That I wasn't addicted and

It's been a while

Since I can say

I love myself as well and

It's been a while

Since I've gone and fucked things up

Just like I always do

and it's been a while

But all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you

And everything I can't remember

As fucked up as it all may seem

The consequences that I've rendered

I'm gone and fucked things up again

Why must I feel this way?

Just make this go away

Just one more peaceful day

And it's been awhile

Since I could

Look at myself straight

And it's been a while

Since I said I'm sorry

And it's been a while

Since I've seen the way

the candles light your face

And it's been a while

But I can still remember just the way you taste

And everything I can't remember

as fucked up as it all may seem

To be,

I know it's me

I cannot blame this on my father

He did the best he could for me

And it's been a while

Since I could

Hold my head up high

And it's been awhile

Since I said I'm sorry

Staind, _It's Been a While_


	2. Part One, Chapter One

Note From Author: Okay, so this is going to be like my "epic." I have lots of ideas, alas, if only I could get them written down. (PS: Spot will not always be called Benji. During the second half be will be called Spot like he should be.) This will be odd for me, because I have a really short attention span when I write, and this story will get pretty "intense?" later on. So, please review! I will love you forever and ever if you do!!!  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Newsies. I have to thank Kenny Ortega and the screenwriters of this little lov'ly movie that had so many hot guys in it. I only own the characters of Lux Listin, Fetch Fianni, William Morrison, Nero Night, Ruby Danson, Rose Danson, Soleil Night and any other supporting characters that do not appear in Newsies.  
  
Please review! I am on cloud nine when I get reviews! (PS: Some of the characters speak some Italian since they live in the Italian district. I have no clue if it is right, I got it off a translator. So, forgive me if it isn't.) Enjoy.  
  
AS THEY RISE AND FALL  
  
PART ONE: BIRTHDAYS ARE BAD LUCK  
  
CHAPTER ONE  
  
The day was hot. Yet, hot would be quite an understatement. Smoldering, blistering, unbearable would be more like it.  
  
The only relief one could find that particular scorching July 14, was not in the rat-trodden apartments or in the sticky sweatshops, yet under the shade of the sentinel-like elm tree in The Park.  
  
The Park was unusually empty. No children shrieked while playing tag or jumping rope or playing catch. The only sounds were the almost inaudible breathing of two figures under the shade of the massive tree. Two figures aged twelve, who were not at all thinking of the future, only of the heat of the moment. The boy lay lazily with his back against the thick trunk of the tree as the girl was sprawled like a cat at his feet, one eye partially opened, observing the area around.  
  
They felt like not much moving, as even though the sun did not touch them, they still felt the drowsy effects. They blocked out the loud oaths being shouted with thick Italian accents or the clatters and clashes of random noises.  
  
The girl, her chin resting on the boy's crossed ankles, picked at a strip of brown-green grass larger than the others. She twisted it around her index finger, desperately fighting off the heaviness in her eyelids. She yearned to shut her eyes for one moment, alas, if she did, she knew she would be gone.  
  
The boy was not faring much better. The oversized cap he wore pulled over his brow made the world seem black as pitch, even with his eyes wide open. He shut his eyes once, yet they fluttered open. Twice, and he couldn't help it. He fought sleep only when she rested her outstretched arm on his legs, burying her face into them. Now he knew he could not sleep. Lunch would be soon.  
  
"Luxy," he murmured, pushing the cap off his brow and onto his pate. The blinding sunlight invaded his eyes and when he closed them, he still saw the blinding image of the sun.  
  
She didn't reply. She was too slumberous to reply. She only let out a weak grunt.  
  
He found it equally as hard to form the words. "Lu-xy. Lunch.soon."  
  
This time, Luxy responded by turning her face to him, her cheek feeling the poking of his leg bone. "Hum?"  
  
He opened his eyes, letting the sunlight pierce them. "Lunch."  
  
"Um." She rolled reluctantly onto her back, her neck fitting perfectly with his crossed ankles.  
  
The boy reluctantly uncrossed his ankles, forcing a rather unhappy moan from Luxy, who let her head fall back against the grass.  
  
He let out a deep sigh, a sigh that rustled the stifling heat. He crouched, and then slowly stood up, his joints creaking.  
  
"Luxy!" he yawned, stretching his arms over his head.  
  
Luxy remained motionless, silent, her raven hair glinting blue in the light, the scent and feel of the grass surrounding her, the heat of the sun on her, not wanting to go anywhere but stay and sleep.  
  
"Luxy," he said. "Lux, I'm gonna leave you here for Mistah Antonelli to get."  
  
Her head shot up and her eyes got wide. "Ya wouldn't dare, Benji!"  
  
A sly smile crossed Benji's lips and his eyes glittered. "Who's to say I wouldn't?"  
  
"Because, its me birthday and I don't feel like movin'."  
  
He snorted. "Oh, really, Luxy? I hear that Mistah Antonelli collects little goils."  
  
"Alright, alright!" she sighed, wearily climbing to her feet. "I'm up, I'm up! Are you happy, you rompicoglioni."  
  
"Oh, hoo hoo hoo! A pain in the ass, am I?" Benji whistled. "Well, you're a donnina!"  
  
He took the first wary step from out of the protective shade. The heat hit him like a million daggers. "Oca! Fa caldo fuori! "  
  
"Of course it's hot out, Benji. It's only one hundred an' three degrees out," Luxy replied, shielding her eyes and stepping out beside him. "I swear, me birthdays are always hot. I was born smack in the middle of the hottest heat wave Manhattan-New Yawk-had ever experienced."  
  
"Maybe your birthdays are just bad luck," he jested.  
  
"Maybe they are," she murmured an undercurrent of seriousness in her voice.  
  
The perspiration was starting to find a trail over Benji's flesh. "Come, on, Luxy, stop standin' there. Let's run. It's too hot."  
  
Luxy glanced at him. "What, ya think that runnin' in the blisterin' heat to our apartments that are two hundred and three degrees inside rather than the one hundred and three it is outside will cool us right down?"  
  
His eyes widened as he pondered this and finally said, "Hang lunch. I'd rather sit in the shade and starve than eat lunch with Mr. Rat and Mr. It's- So-Damn-Hot-Out as guests at the table." With that, he fell back onto the grass, the shade cooling him immediately.  
  
Luxy, still standing with the smoldering sun on her back, shook her head. "I can't tie a noose 'round lunch's neck that fast. Mama will very angry that I up stood Mr. Rat and Mr. It's-So-Damn-Hot-Out. Comin'?"  
  
Benji shook his head, finding his back finding its place against the rough bark or the sentinel. "I ain't goin' nowhere."  
  
"Suit yourself," she casually replied, taking more steps in the heat. She turned around and shielded her eyes. "Hey, Benji!"  
  
"What?" his muffled cry answered from under his hat that had found its way over his eyes again.  
  
"Want me to git ya anything?"  
  
With this, he slowly removed his cap, and even from the distance she was standing away from him, she could see the Cheshire cat like grin creep over the width of his entire face.  
  
"Yeah, ya can!"  
  
"What?" Luxy inquired, shifting her weight onto one foot.  
  
"Julie!" he replied.  
  
She shook her head and rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smile. "I meant somethin' more that is in a food group."  
  
He slowly shook his head and his hat fell down his brow once more and his ankles found themselves crossed and his arms found themselves behind his head. "Nah, then that's okay, Luxy."  
  
"Bye, Benj," she replied, starting the two block trek to her residence, yet she stopped and turned around. "Benj?"  
  
"Yeah?" his faint voice came.  
  
"Never, ever call me a street-walker again."  
  
With that, she sauntered home as Benji flipped the one corner of his hat up to peer at her, and smile.  
  
*** It was when he sweaty palm grasped the knob to the main door to the apartment that Luxy Listin knew she would die. Die of the relentless, unmerciful son of a whore sun and his damn heat that kept boring down on her.  
  
She crouched, placing her hands on her upper legs and panting just like a dog. After she had collected herself, she straightened and flicked open the door. She stepped inside the threshold and the door swung shut with a creak. The sheer mugginess hit her in ways that just were not right. The humid apartment building had to be twice that of what it was outside. At once, she wished that she had stayed under the tree with Benji, asleep at his feet and the peaceful sound of their unison breathing the only sound in the world.  
  
Yet, the rumbles in her stomach made her climb the several sets of stairs until the reached the apartment. Struggling, stumbling in the heat she finally made it. She stood at the door, resting her forehead against the splintering pine, yells invading her ears.  
  
"Placez la volonté de table vous, Annie ?"  
  
"Mama, you know we don't speak French."  
  
"No, you don't speak French. Only I speak French! Votre père ne vous laissera pas parler français. Seulement italien. Son Italien ! "  
  
"Mama, we don't understand you!"  
  
"Oui, I know, Lynn! Did you set the table yet, Anastacia? I asked you how many minutes ago! Ah, ces enfants ! Ils agissent comme leur père ! Un imbécile italien ! "  
  
"Great," Luxy murmured under her breath. "They got Mama speakin' in French. What the hell did they do this time?" She turned the knob and opened the door (after a few tries for the door always stuck.)  
  
The door opened with a horrid squeal. Her mother stopped and connected gazes with her from across the room. Her pretty face was hidden under a mask of weariness and her once lustrous black hair was pinned upon her head in a bun. "Luxy? Where on Earth have you been? You should have been here to help set up for lunch! Where were you?"  
  
Luxy let out a long sigh, grasping her hair in her grasp and holding it off her slick neck. She shut the well-needed oiled door behind her and approached the warped table that served the Listin meals.  
  
"I was with Benji, Mama," she replied, sliding into a chair.  
  
"Benji, who is this Benji?" her mother shrilly inquired, circling the table, spooning servings of unappetizing gruel into the wooden bowls. A rat suddenly scurried across the warped wooden floor, making her jump. "These rats!"  
  
"Ben Conlon, Mama," Luxy replied. "The boy who lives in the apartment next door."  
  
"Ben Conlon? He's the little boy with the non-Italian parents! I declare, but I find something wrong with that. Living in the Italian district and not even being Italian!" she huffed, falling into a chair.  
  
"Mama, Ben Conlon's father is part Italian. It's his mother that is from Manhattan," Anastacia piped in.  
  
Luxy breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
Yet, Nathalie Listin was a relentless woman. "Still. His mother is not Italian."  
  
"Mother, you are not Italian, either. You are French," Julie sharply stated.  
  
Nathalie Listin's jaw dropped, yet it was scornfully shut as she spooned a helping of gruel into her mouth.  
  
Lunch was filled with tension that could have cut through iron. Luxy inhaled her food as quickly as she could so that she could be excused as quickly as she could.  
  
After she had managed to stomach the last of the gruel, her spoon landed with a clatter into the wooden bowl. "May I be excused?"  
  
Her mother's fierce blue eyes met hers. "You certainly may not be."  
  
"Oh, Mother, what use will she be at the table? Let he go," Julie caustically said.  
  
Nathalie Listin's eyes filled with fury, but she dropped them to the bowl once again. "Yes, you may be excused," she said in a quiet but hard tone.  
  
Luxy happily pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. As she passed Anastacia, her sister caught her and whispered, "Happy Birthday, Luxy."  
  
A quiet smile formed on her lips. "Thanks, Annie."  
  
She was out the squeaky-hinged door and down the stairs and finally pushed open the door to be greeted by the smoldering sunlight. She was about to trot over to The Park to find Benji, who was relaxing, maybe asleep, under the old elm, when she heard the apartment door next to hers creak open.  
  
She cocked her head, and what she saw made her roll her eyes and shake her head and smile at the same time. It was Benji, who had traces of spaghetti sauce smattered on the corners of his mouth.  
  
"I thought that you were hanging dinner, Benj?" she asked, as they made their way to The Park.  
  
He shrugged. "You can't argue with ya stomach, even when it is hot out."  
  
Relief rushed through them both as they found the glorious shade of the sentinel once more. In a matter of moments, Benji lay lazily once more with his back against the thick trunk of the tree as Luxy was sprawled like a cat once more at his feet, one eye partially opened, observing the area around.  
  
"Luxy?" Benji asked, fighting off the reoccurring drowsy effects of the heat.  
  
"Um?" Luxy murmured the side of her head resting on his crossed ankles.  
  
"Didya git me Julie like I asked?"  
  
She gave a snort of laughter as she rolled onto her back, her neck fitting with his ankles. "Sorry, Benj, I didn't. But I could get you a few good rats, though." 


	3. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO  
  
The summer had dimmed, as did the scorching heat. There was no need to find refuge every hour of the day under the elm in The Park just to feel the refreshing coolness of a zephyr.  
  
Luxy Listin inhaled deeply on one such breeze that found its way through the open bedroom window, dancing on her face for a few minutes. She was ever so thankful for the drop in temperature. She had spent too many precious summer days sprawled out at Benji's feet, like a caged animal under the shade of the sentinel.  
  
But this, now, was a different story. The days following the dog days where fall is right on summer's heels, there is just the perfect balance of hot and cold. Children could once more populate The Park, their screams of joy blending in with the yells of the adults coming from the apartments.  
  
A small smile found its way to her face, but soon dropped as a sudden, horrid thought dawned on her. Her last summer. This would be her last summer as a child. Lynn had turned thirteen late this winter, and that meant that she had to go to work at the factory, like Mama and Julie and Annie. Just like Antonio had to go this year to work with Papa and Peter and Philip. And Meg, poor Meg. All Meg had wanted to rise to in live was to stay home for her husband while he went away to work. Unfortunately, she had perished last year in the factory when the hem of her dress got caught in one of the machines and it pulled her in. Julie had said that it took them forever to clean up the blood.  
  
Luxy immediately sat up in bed. She felt like her throat was constricting, like she was suffocating. Her breathing because loud and heavy and her heart raced. Quietly, as not to wake up the others, she twisted out of the covers and tiptoed over their legs, jumping off the edge of the bed and flying to the window where she thrust her head out inhaled the luke-warm night air.  
  
Her chest still heaving, she clambered onto the window ledge and sat, like a cat might sit, watchfully staring out the window. Only, she stared at the apartments across from hers. Benji's was right across from hers and she could also hear the yells. They might have been from downstairs, Mr. Pepper yelling at Mrs. Pepper and calling her a bitch again or it could have been from across, Mr. Conlon yelling at Mrs. Conlon again.  
  
Her question was answered when she saw a dark silhouette emerge from the window that led to Benji's room. He then proceeded to scale across to her on the dirty, white cord that served for hanging the cloths out to dry. He always did this, but it never ceased to amaze her, granted he was a good three stories up. Yet, there was something different about this night trip, he had a knapsack full of something tied by a cord that dangled from his leg.  
  
This struck Luxy's interest, and when he reached her side, she swung her legs outward and watched as he hoisted himself up onto the window ledge.  
  
"Benji," she asked in a hushed whisper, grabbing onto his upper arm, "what are you…OH!"  
  
She couldn't help but gasp. He had turned his face to her, and in the glare of the moon, she saw his face. It looked as though he had gotten stuck in one of the factory machines. Both his eyes had black as pitch circles around them, his left one not even being able to open. His left cheek looked like it had been shattered, it was so horrific, as the left side of his mouth was split. The same side of his nose was concave, and dried blood hung from the lower part of his face, giving him the almost comical appearance of a burnt red beard.  
  
She drew a hand to her mouth in a gasp. "Benji…what…"  
  
Yet, Benji was swinging his legs over the other side of the ledge, doing so with much pain. He dropped to the ground and let out a clenched groan.  
  
"Benji, what happened?" she asked in a hushed voice, thrusting the pack into the room.  
  
He stood up and turned to her. "I'm leaving, Luxy," he said in a low voice that cracked, trying to hold back the tears.  
  
He had already started across the bedroom and to the door when Luxy jumped off the ledge and dashed over to him. "Benji, please, what happened?" she asked again, her voice faltering with tears.  
  
Benji reached the knob and turned it, but recoiled with a low howl of agony. Her hand immediately darted out and grabbed his hand, her eyes falling to his fingers and knuckles. She let out a gasp. They were bloody and black from being hit so many times. Her other hand grabbed his other one. The same. She let them drop and she stared hard at him, through his mangled face, the tears finding their way down her face. "Jesus Christ, Ben, what happened?"  
  
"Open the goddamn door, Lux," he said in a low voice, a voice that was desperately trying to hold back tears.  
  
She did as she was told, and Benji hobbled out into the kitchen, the pack still connected to his right ankle, dragging on the floor behind him.  
  
"Benji, wait!" she hissed, stooping down and grabbing his leg, freeing the pack from his leg.  
  
She thought this was the hindrance to his walking, yet, he still stumbled with buckling knees. She rushed over to him, the pack under one arm, and slung his arm around her shoulder while she wrapped her free one round his back. "Benji, lean on me."  
  
And he did so. They made their way down the steps and out of the apartment, every single step pure agony for Benji.  
  
Luxy stopped when they reached outside. "Where do ya want to go?"  
  
"The Park," he replied weakly, his forehead collapsing against her shoulder.  
  
When she finally saw the dark shape of the elm in the night, she burst out into tears of happiness that they had finally reached it. She placed him against the trunk of the tree, his head lolling forward, as she fell beside him.  
  
"Benji, what happened?" she asked through tears, placing her palm under his chin and picking his head up. Her tears got even bitter when she saw the wounds in the pale moonlight.  
  
He averted his eyes to the ground as his cheek fell against her palm.  
  
"Benji, what in God's name happened to you?" she cried.  
  
He raised his head and locked his one good eye with her tear-filled ones. "My pa, that's what," he said in a hard, spiritless voice.  
  
"Oh my God." Luxy felt the tears come to her eyes with even more passion.  
  
"I just wanted to see his cane, that's all. The cane that his dad gave him and his dad before him. The cane that is his little baby. The cane that he loves even more than his goddamn family!" he hollered, his voice quaking.  
  
Luxy looked down and indeed saw the cane poking through a belt loop in his pants.  
  
"I'd saw it before. It was real pretty. I asked if I could hold it and he said no. That I wasn't good enough. He said that he wasn't gonna give it to me when he dies. The old bastard said he was gonna be buried with it in his goddamn grave. That I was a sissy boy and no macho boy. But its gonna be my thirteenth birthday soon, ya know? That's when I'll finally be a man and have to work in the damn factory. He was out today and I just had an itch to go look at it. So, I jimmied open the box he keeps it in and I did. I looked at it. It was so pretty that I picked the bitch up and just started caressin' the smooth wood. Lux, the wood was so damn smooth." Here was when his voice faltered and the tears came. "But he came home early from the bar. I could here him in the kitchen screamin' at my ma and callin' her a bitch and I could here her screamin' and him yellin' and he was hittin' on her and she was sobbing…And then he came into the room and found me with his cane."  
  
He paused, wavering. She wondered if he would go one. He did, the moonlight reflecting off the tears in his eyes. "He saw me and looked at me as if I was a goddamn rat. He said, 'Boy, what the hell you doin' with my cane.' And I said, 'Pa, I jist wanted to look at it.' And he came over and snatched it from me. 'Boy, you know you ain't nothin' but a pile of shit. You ain't never gonna git this cane. I'm gonna be buried with it because its mine. You can't never have it.' And then he looked at it and he got all red and he looked at me and yelled, 'Boy, I jist polished this cane and you come and git your fuckin' fingerprints on it and smudge it right the fuck up.' And I crawled back and said it wasn't me. But he raised that cane up and smashed it right across my face…"  
  
He was sobbing in hysterics now. "And I fell back, but he brought it down again and again. And I got up and try to run, but he smashed behind my legs and I couldn't walk. And I tried the handle and he smashed my fingers and I lay there sobbin' and he jist kept hittin' me and hittin' me and then it went all black…"  
  
Benji threw his hands to his face, but let out a howl of pain. "My fingers. My goddamn fingers. They hurt so much."  
  
Luxy felt revulsion and pain surge through her at the same time. "Oh my God."  
  
He fell against her, burying his head into her chest, and she wrapped her arms around his quaking shoulders, pulling him close.  
  
"I can't go back! I can't go back!" he sobbed into her. "I can't! They'll have to kill me first before I go back there!'  
  
"Benji, where will you go?" she asked through tears.  
  
He pulled away from her and sat up. A new fire flashed in his eye. "I don't know, Luxy, I don't know," he replied in a low, harsh voice, stopping the tears. "I got my stuff and I'm goin' somewhere. Jist not back there. Are you comin' with me?"  
  
Luxy looked him straight in the eyes. "Where will we go, Benj. Tell me, where will we go?" she asked bitterly.  
  
He shrugged, grasping onto his pack. "I don't know and I don't care. Anywhere. I just can't live with that son of a bitch no more."  
  
Luxy let out a bitter laugh. "Anywhere, really Benji?"  
  
"Yeah," he replied harshly, his eye glinting.  
  
"Anywhere? Say we leave tonight? Where will we go? You can't even walk and I can't carry you far. We'll have to stay the night or maybe longer in some dark, dirty alley. The police will probably find us and return us to our parents. Your father will just get madder and will beat you even more. But say we do escape. We are only twelve. Where will we work? Some sweatshop? Some factory? Benji, in a place where we will slave all day and get absolutely nothing in return? But say we escape but we get caught further down the road. They'll put us in an orphanage and who knows what the hell can happen to us there. We will probably be separated and may you may be adopted by people who are even worse than your father. We…"  
  
"Oh, Luxy!" he interrupted her, in a soft quivering voice, falling against her once more.  
  
"Benj," Luxy replied, feeling the tears coming once again.  
  
She didn't know when sleep found her that horrible night, or if sleep even found her at all. 


	4. Chapter Three

Note From Author: Okay, I really wanted this to be one chapter. But I will have to break this thought into two chapters because it is way too long. Thanks! Please read and review and enjoy!  
  
CHAPTER THREE  
  
A clap of audible thunder ripped through the ever-lightning winter sky, waking Benji Conlon. He sat up with a start in his bed, making the springs squeak, and uttered a gasp.  
  
Holding his breath and eyes wide, he waited.  
  
A flash of lightning sizzled the sky followed soon after by its companion thunder.  
  
He exhaled in utter relief and fell back against the bed. It hadn't been another of his father's blows to his mother. It had only been thunder. Only thunder.  
  
The corners of his mouth crept up into a smile. At least they had been saved for tonight. His father had gone to the pub early last night and had never returned. Maybe he was passed out in some gutter.  
  
Or maybe he was lying dead in some gutter.  
  
Benji let out a sigh and flipped from his back to his side (making the springs squeak once more) laying his head on his outstretched arm.  
  
He had been thinking more and more each day about running away. Ever since the cane incident, he had kept his knapsack full and waiting under his bed. He had cut a laundry cord from the first floor and had kept it and tied one end to his window. Kept it for if his father ever come to beat on him, he would just grab his knapsack and slide down the cord and when his feet hit the ground, he would run, run like hell.  
  
He would have run away that summer night, even though he couldn't walk none too well, but one thing had stopped him. Luxy. Even now that his external markings were gone (save a few scars), he could have run away any time after the cane incident. But Luxy stopped him. She always stopped him.  
  
He knew nothing was waiting for her here. When she turned thirteen she would be sent to work in some sweatshop with her mother and sisters. One of the sweatshops where all the rapes occurred. One of the sweatshops where all the deaths occurred, like what happened to her older sister Meg.  
  
Another clap of thunder rocketed the air, breaking his thoughts. Yet another sigh later, he was off his bed and was leaning on the window, staring out at Luxy's room.  
  
Through the slanted rain, he could make out the dark room through the window frame.  
  
He didn't know why she stayed. He only knew that he couldn't leave without her.  
  
He averted his eyes to the top of the apartment building. The sun would be coming up in a few hours. He watched the sun come up a lot. Every new day that slipped by, the spring was drawing nearer. And so was his thirteenth birthday when he would be sent off to work at the factory with his father.  
  
A shudder started from the top of his neck and slowly worked its way slowly down his backbone. He turned from the window and prepared to return once more to his bed when a loud shout in thick Italian cut through the sound of the pounding rain.  
  
He immediately turned on his heel and raced to the window, reaching it in time just to see a light flair up in Luxy's bedroom.  
  
A female's high pitched scream came, followed by a string of oaths in Italian which are to awful to be written here.  
  
Benji's eyes fell to the light and he squinted to see through the rain. The light was wavering erratically, and it seemed to be coming closer to the window.  
  
He jutted his head out into the stinging rain in time to see the light being extinguished and a dark silhouette appear at the window, throwing its legs over the ledge.  
  
Narrowing his eyes, he maneuvered his head so he could see who it was. A shot of lightning ripped through the air and his eyes went wide at what he saw.  
  
It was Luxy. She was lowering herself through the window and onto the laundry cord.  
  
Panic raced through him as a clap of thunder ruptured the air.  
  
"Oh my God, Luxy, what the hell are ya doin?" he murmured, concentrating on her.  
  
She had swung her legs out the window and her toes were touching the cord. Another string of shouts and the given screams were heard and she quickly turned her head over her shoulder and back again to connect gazes with him.  
  
Another burst of lightning illuminated the sky, and the look of panic on Luxy's face.  
  
"Benji!" she whimpered.  
  
Benji cupped his hands around his mouth. "LUX-Y! What the hell ya doin'!"  
  
She didn't respond, she only dropped from the window and onto the cord. Her footing slipped and she uttered a scream.  
  
"LUX-Y!" Benji hollered, reaching out the window as far as it was humanly possible.  
  
Hanging by the cord, she kicked her leg up until she could pull her whole body up. She clutched on for dear life.  
  
"Come on, Luxy, come on!" he cried, motioning with his hands.  
  
Luxy looked petrified. The rain was boring down harder, causing the cord to bounce slightly. The wind blew her hair around like a dark cape.  
  
Another series of shrieks were heard from the apartment, and she looked back and then to Benji again, terror etched on her face.  
  
"BENJI!" she screamed.  
  
"LUX! Come one! You can do it!" Benji replied.  
  
New determination found its way into her eyes, and she slowly inched forward, placing one hand in front of the other. She was almost near his window.  
  
Benji was leaning out the window as much as he could, his arms outstretched. "Come on, Lux, ya almost there!"  
  
Yet, a shot of lightning sliced the air, too close for comfort, causing her to almost slip. She uttered a high-pitched shriek, and would have fallen to her sure death below, if Benji wouldn't have struggled out further and grabbed her wrists.  
  
With a groan, Benji heaved backward and pulled Luxy through the window. With a thud, he landed sharply on his back and she fell at his feet.  
  
He quickly sat up, grabbing her by the shoulder. "Luxy, Luxy!" he cried, shaking her.  
  
She didn't respond. Her head was down, her wet black hair hanging limply in front of her face, her shoulders shaking.  
  
"Luxy," he said a bit softer, putting his hand under her chin and lifting her head so their gazes connected. "What the hell is wrong?"  
  
Benji could not tell the difference between the tears and the rain that smattered her face. Her sharp, tear stained eyes pierced his. "Julie…and Mama…I can't," she choked.  
  
"Lux, tell me, please," he softly said, slipping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her close and putting his head on hers. Her wet nightgown pressed against his bare side.  
  
Luxy let out a sigh. "Julie…Julie ran away with D...David today."  
  
His eyes opened in surprise. "Today?"  
  
"Yes," she said through tears.  
  
Julie was the eldest sibling of the Listin family. She had been carrying on a torrid affair with some rich fellow named David Something-Or-Other, an affair which her father didn't care for. Benji knew that Listin had forbid his daughter to see the young man, alas, they still met in secret. But run away?  
  
"Luxy, I'm sorry," he said.  
  
In response, she roughly shook off his grasp and stood to her feet. "Sorry? Sorry for what? That Julie ran away? I couldn't give a damn! Julie was a caustic bitch who made everyone's life miserable. It affected me because Papa just blew up and started to blame it on Mama, as if it was he fault that she ran away. And he started yelling at her…And that's why I had to leave. But he has no right to yell at her. As if she hasn't suffered enough. Today, just today, at the factory, she was raped by one of the workers. Can you believe it?"  
  
Benji sat, mouth gaping and speechless. If the conversation hadn't been so serious, he would have commented on the comical puddle of water that was forming under a very damp Luxy.  
  
She began to pace the room, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. "And that got me to thinking…I mean, these blasted sweatshops…Meg was killed in one, Mama was raped in one." She halted and stared intently at him. "I turn thirteen at the beginning of this summer. My life ends just as the world is about to begin, bathing in the summer's heat. I turn thirteen and they are going to drag me off to one of those goddamn sweatshops…"  
  
She stopped and her head fell into her hands, muffling the sobs.  
  
Benji slowly rose to his feet, his stomach dropping. He felt weak and nauseous, but he drew himself to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, shivering because of the settling dampness on her. She buried her head into the warmth of his chest, relishing the protection.  
  
"Luxy," he almost whispered, yet in a frank voice, placing his chin on her pate. "I turn thirteen at the beginning of the spring. The days slip by so quickly, and I cringe cause the air's gettin' warmer and its gettin' greener out. You'se ain't goin' nowhere alone. I'm goin' there wit ya."  
  
This made her breakdown even harder.  
  
Yet Benji just stood there, intertwined with his one and truest friend in- between empyrean and Hades, until the sobs that filled the room faded and the only noise that could be heard was their rhythmic breathing, the patter of rain, and the occasional clap of thunder.  
  
"Luxy," he whispered, "Lux?"  
  
"Uh?" she breathlessly replied.  
  
"Luxy, you'se all wet. And ya got me all wet." He slowly pushed her away.  
  
In the room, the darkness was fading with every minute, he was relieved to see the corners of her mouth lift to form a smile. "Oh, Benji. You'se not even wearin' a shirt. Why you complainin' about being wet?"  
  
His face lit up into a smile (a smile, which in later years would become infamous for making girls all over New York swoon.) "Luxy, ya gonna catch the cold or sumpthin' or other if ya don't change. I'd give ya one of me ma's extra shirts, but I don't wanna go in her room and wake her up. Ya can have one of me shirts."  
  
Luxy nodded, smiling gratefully, wrapping her arms around herself.  
  
As Benji stooped and untied the handkerchief that served as his knapsack, she commented, "I was go damn worked up that I didn't even realize how cold out if was."  
  
He arose, and his eyes scanned her from head to toe. His smile widened as he held out a crinkled white-collar shirt. "I'se sorry that I don't have nothin' that could come past ya knees, Miss Listin. It's jist that these are my only pants and ya wouldn't want me to go 'round with no pants…"  
  
"Oh, Benjamin Conlon, do hush!" she giggled, swatting the shirt away. She placed her spread palm on his chest and pushed him onto the bed.  
  
Luxy proceeded to one of the corners (they corners that were dark the last time she looked, yet were not so dark anymore) and started to lift off her damp nightgown, when she suddenly turned around, raising an eyebrow. Benji knew she felt his eyes burning into her.  
  
"Mr. Conlon, I do say, but it ain't proper to stare at a lady while she is getting undressed."  
  
"Oh, mercy me!" he cried, covering his eyes and laying on his bed on his side so his back faced her.  
  
When Luxy was content, she once again turned and pulled her nightgown over her head, flinging it into the corner. She quickly slipped on the shirt and buttoned it up.  
  
Benji could hear her feet padding softly on the splintered floor, and the threadbare mattress fluxed under her weight. He quickly propped himself on his elbow and arched so he faced her. "What the hell d'ya think ya doin?"  
  
She sat on her knees, her blue eyes glinting, and her still damp raven hair hanging about.  
  
He felt his breath was taken away.  
  
An innocent smile crossed her face. "What, ya think I was gonna go back over there and try to sleep with all that arguin'? Hell no. That's why ya gotta move over."  
  
Benji shook his head, swinging his legs onto the edge of the bed, preparing to rise. "Huh-uh, Lux. You take the bed, I'll take the floo…"  
  
He stopped when he felt her cold hand touch his bare shoulder, sending shivers down his spine. He turned to face her.  
  
Her face was solemn, her lips in a straight line. "Benji, please, don't go. I don't want to be alone."  
  
He sighed. "Alright, Lux."  
  
He lay down on the bed, leaving his arm out. She dropped down beside him, tugging up the raggedy blanket while he pulled her close.  
  
Luxy turned to her side, pulling herself as close to Benji as possible and wrapped her grasp around his torso. "Benji, what would I do with out you?" she breathed contentedly, sleep almost over taking her.  
  
Benji, on his back, turned his head to her, brushing against hair. "I don't know, Lux, I don't know."  
  
Luxy was gone into a sleep in a few moments, but Benji lay awake, staring at the ever-lightning ceiling, the sound of the rhythmic rain in his ears, and the coldness of her skin warming him exceedingly.  
  
***  
  
The crash and the screams woke them both.  
  
Benji quickly sat up in bed, just as another scream and a string of deep oaths came.  
  
"Benji, is it…" Luxy shakily asked, knowing yet not daring to say it.  
  
Benji threw off the covers and padded over to the center of the room, listening intently. There was a final horrible scheech and the slurs of drunken words.  
  
Before you could say cane, he had dashed to his knapsack, threw it over his shoulder and was to the window where the sun's first rays were shining through.  
  
Luxy slowly dismounted the bed from the opposite side, joining Benji at the window. He threw the cord down out the window; it reached the bottom and slightly recoiled, then hung limp. He quickly looked over his shoulder and back again.  
  
"Benj…" Luxy questioningly inquired. Yet she couldn't finish, Benji was pushing her out the window and commanding her to snake down the cord.  
  
When he was out the window and on the cord, he stopped to look once more just as the bedroom door splintered open and his father drunkenly stumbled in, shouting ungodly curses and waving the cane high above his head. 


	5. Chaper Four

Note from Author: Yay, I am finally updating! I wanted chapters three, four, and five to be in the same chapter, but that would be way too long. Then I wanted chapters four and five to be together, but that would be too long, so I split them up. I have hopes for this story, so please read and review and enjoy!!!  
  
CHAPTER FOUR  
  
At that moment, Luxy Listin had never known such fear. Fear of what? Of Anthony Conlon? She had hardly even seen Benji's father in all these years she had known him.  
  
Yet, she couldn't help feel an overwhelming sensation of trepidation as she stood at the bottom of the apartment, clinging onto the cord, staring up at Benji. Perhaps it was just the horrid memory of that night last summer when Benji had appeared covered in bruises due to the cane…  
  
Benji was still at the top of the cord, peering into the window.  
  
"Why ain't he hurryin' up?" she feverishly whispered.  
  
The sudden booming voice of Anthony Conlon in unspeakable expletives cut through the early winter morning, a morning in which rain threatened the air.  
  
It was at this moment that her nerves broke. Clutching the cord in her grasp, she madly swung it about, screaming, "Benji! Benji! Hurry the hell up! Come on!"  
  
Benji glanced down at her, a mixture of anger and fear plastered on his face. "Will you stop that, goddammit!" he choked, as he began to slide down the cord, hand under hand.  
  
When he was halfway down, Anthony Conlon thrust his upper body out the window, the cane clutched in his right hand. His drunken, hate-filled gaze focused to Luxy, and then to his son. "You good for nuttin' son of a bitch! Git your ass back up here! Boy, git up here now or I'se gonna give ya such a hard beatin' that ya ain't gonna be able to walk!"  
  
Yet, Benji ignored his father's request and continued climbing down, nearly slipping because he was quaking with absolute fear.  
  
Luxy shifted her wide eyes to Conlon. "That's it, boy!" he thundered. "I'se gonna come down there and kill ya!"  
  
It was when she saw him disappear from the window that she screamed in a shrill voice, "Benji! Hurry up, please! Hurry!"  
  
Benji could hear the old stairs inside the apartment creak under his father's weight. Taking a deep breath, he let go of the cord. He landed a good ten feet below on the still-frosted grass. He placed his hands out to cushion the blow, but he landed on his left wrist, making it land in an impossible position.  
  
He emitted a howl of agony.  
  
"Come on, Benji!" Luxy squealed, grabbing his injured wrist and pulling him to his feet, causing him to utter another cry of pain.  
  
They dashed forward until they reached the sidewalk in front of the apartment…just as the door to the apartment banged open and Conlon stumbled out, flailing the cane above his head.  
  
Luxy took one look at him and was off like a hunted deer. She could hear Benji's heavy breathing and grunts of stifled pain and the hard padding of his bare feet against the sidewalk as Anthony Conlon's slurred voice filled her ears, "Git back here, boy! Ya dead! Ya and that little whore!"  
  
Swirls of color coursed through her brain as she ran, the wind whipping her bare legs. She already had acquired a grand stitch in her side when a revelation struck her: she and Benji's feet weren't the only feet running. There was another hard pounding…  
  
Quickly side-stepping a pedestrian, she cocked her head around and let out a gasp of horror. Over Benji's shoulder, she could see his father, his father madly following them.  
  
She looked back to Benji, whose glowing eyes of determination were stark with his pale face. "Run," he commanded in a low voice.  
  
Luxy's brain was too full to comprehend this.  
  
"RUN!" he bellowed.  
  
She let out a squeal, and, whipping her head around, picked up her heels at an even quicker pace.  
  
Swerving people on the sidewalks and the terrible pain in her side, she ran until she thought she would die at that moment. She could not breathe and her legs had become heavy, nonessential objects that just hindered her. She was about to allow her knees to buckle under her, when she felt Benji's wrist grab hers, and tug her off the sidewalk.  
  
It happened so quickly, she could only let out a muffled cry as she fell to the dusty ground. Propping herself up and brushing her raven hair out of her eyes, she discovered that he had pulled her into a dank, dreary (and dark) alleyway. She opened her mouth to babble incoherently, when he sharply pulled to her feet, clamped his good hand over her mouth, and pressed her close to him.  
  
Her eyes were wide as Benji took backward steps until the darkness engulfed them. She felt his free (and clammy) hand grope for hers, and grasp it tight, despite the pain.  
  
Together, they watched with held breaths as Anthony Conlon appeared in the square of daylight at the mouth of the alley. As he halted his wobbly pursuit and bent over, panting like a dog. When he regained his composure, he straightened and yelled breathlessly, "Boy, if I ever see ya no good fuckin' face again, I'se gonna kill ya! Hear that? I'll smash ya fuckin' brains in with this cane—you and that whore!"  
  
They watched as he uttered one last cry of disgusted failure and as he slowly turned around, shoulders hunched, and stumbled away. When they could no longer see him, Benji gave out a deep sigh of relief, releasing his hand from Luxy's mouth, yet Luxy burst into tears of relief.  
  
Benji gently pushed her away and cautiously crept to the mouth of the alleyway, knowing his heart was in his mouth, as he cocked his head and saw that his father was no longer there. A passerby had stopped, and was staring curiously into the alleyway. Benji caught his gaze. "Hey, there ain't nuttin' here to see! Go on, git!!" he cried breathlessly.  
  
The man was flustered. "Why, I never!" he cried, as he marched away in a huff.  
  
Benji slowly looked down both ways of the street, his gaze lingering. Just perhaps his father was hiding somewhere, but after a good few minutes he exhaled a shaky breath and turned back to the alley.  
  
Luxy was still where he had left her, trouser-less, her wails coming out erratically. Gathering his composure, Benji approached her. "Luxy," he said in a low voice. "Stop."  
  
Yet, Luxy took no heed to him. She couldn't understand the words that sounded incoherent to her. For all she knew, a very angry man with a very powerful cane wanted to smash her brains in.  
  
"Lux-y, stop," Benji growled, drawing closer to her. She wasn't listening. His nerves were shot and he could only think of one thing to stop her wails. Pulling back his arm, he let his hand rip across her face, striking her with such force that it sent her flying backwards.  
  
It had happened so fast, all she had felt was the stinging flair up wildly on the right side of her face and the wind being knocked out of her as she collapsed to the ground. She was too stunned to sob anymore. She only raised her hand to the red handprint on her cheek as her wide eyes stared up at Benji.  
  
Benji stepped back, flabbergasted. "Oh my God," he whispered.  
  
After the initial shock of surprise wore off, a red veil of infuriation shrouded Luxy. She slowly rose to her feet, her blue eyes narrowed in icy hate and her fists clenched at her sides.  
  
Benji realized the repercussions of what he had done. His mouth gaped as he held his hands in front of him. "Lux…I'se sorry…I didn't mean it…oh God," he stammered, taking a step back for every one Luxy took forward.  
  
Yet, Luxy couldn't see his remorse. He had struck her, regardless if it had indeed been to shut-up her hysterics, he had struck her. When she realized that Benji had backed himself into a wall, she let out a cry and her right fist flew towards his face. Yet, he reflexed and his hand shot up and blocked the blow. Her right had trapped in his left hand, Luxy countered this by quickly picking up her left hand and letting her fist rip into his right eye.  
  
Benji let out a howl of agony, dropping her fist and covering his damaged eye with his hands. " Jesus Christ! Il mio occhio! Che cosa fate quello per! Scopa, danneggia!"  
  
As Luxy stood there, watching him writhe in pain, the anger subsided. "Well course it hoits, ya bastard! Ya don't think that me own eye don't hoit? Ya got me pretty good, so stop your sniv'lin!"  
  
Benji straightened, gaping, and lowered his hands from his eye. Luxy couldn't contain herself, she burst into gales of hysterical laughter. His right eye was as black as pitch, making a stark contrast with the sliver of pale blue eye that shone through.  
  
Alas, Benji found nothing comical about the excruciating pain that radiated from his eye. "Ah, stop ya cacklin'," he snarled, briefly touching his eye, emitting a yelp and letting his hand fall to his side.  
  
Remorse flooded through Luxy. "Ah, Benj, I'se sorry," she grinned, approaching him and trying hard to contain her laughter.  
  
He narrowed his good eye at her. "Jesus Christ!" he hissed. "Me hand's broken, me eye feels like its been blown off, and me dad wants to beat me fuckin' brains in wit 'is cane. Can dis day git any worse?"  
  
As if on cue, the threatening gray skies darkened and a rumble of thunder was heard.  
  
"As a matter of fact, it can, Benj" she snorted. "It can RAIN!"  
  
The storm from the previous night was replaying itself as a streak of distant lightning illuminated the air, the thunder following shortly.  
  
Benji cocked his face up towards the sky, the first drops of cold rain hitting the bridge of his nose. "Fucking rain…"  
  
In a few minutes, the temperature had dropped a good ten degrees and Luxy felt this as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. The cold rain that had started as a mere drizzle a few seconds ago was now starting to pour down with a vengeance.  
  
Their gazes connected before they both let out cries and broke into running strides, racing out of the alley and cutting the right corner short. Pushing through the pedestrians vying to find cover, the rain had already soaked through to what seemed their marrow when Luxy suddenly halted and tugged Benji through a warped door.  
  
Luxy rolled her shoulders back and took a few cautious steps forward, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. When she realized Benji wasn't behind her, she stopped and spun around, motioning for him to join her with her hands.  
  
Benji was still near the door, bent over, catching his breath. He narrowed his eyes at her, but straightened and joined her. "What is this place?" he hissed, as they stepped forward.  
  
She shrugged and fell behind him. "Dark."  
  
Benji glanced over his shoulder at her. "I know it's dark, smart-ass. But what is it?"  
  
Suddenly, Luxy halted. Trepidation coursed through her body and she felt foolish. "Benj, wait," she whispered frantically, linking her arm through his, stopping him. "I don't know about this. I mean, who are we to jist barge in some place we don't even…"  
  
Yet, he had shook out of her grip and was walking to another door. "I'se don't know, Lux, and I'se don't care. We need shelter from the rain and I need something for me hand or else I'm gonna die from the pain."  
  
"But, Benj…" she cried, her voice coming out small and whiney. It was no use; he had already passed through another door. "Benji, wait!" she cried, picking up her heels and following after him, through the door.  
  
Luxy now found herself in a better-lit hallway, save Benji. A door on the left side of the hallway was still swinging from the aftershock of being opened with great force. She frantically looked down the hallway both ways before scuttling through the door after him.  
  
"Benjamin Conlon, I'se gonna kill…" she hissed, as she entered the next room, but was immediately silenced when she saw Benji turn around and place his index finger to his mouth quickly to silence her.  
  
Luxy's jaw dropped as she joined his side. Her gaze flickered to him, but he was only staring straight ahead. Her eyes soon joined his.  
  
Through the tangles of ropes and pulleys, she realized they appeared to be in what was the left side of a stage. From the angle she was poised at, Luxy could also see a slice of the seats made for the now vacant audience. Her eyes drifted to the stage once again where there was a rather colorful lady clothed in an array of pinks and purples with equally bright red hair. Her hands were spaced apart on the handle of a long sweeping broom, it making equal strokes on the stage.  
  
It was then Luxy heard the voice. "Yeah, Medda, ya never gonna believe it! Old Racey actually won some money at Sheepsheds!"  
  
Her gaze shifted to the seats, and there in the seats she spied the owner of the voice. He was a boy of about thirteen, clad in a dirty white-collar shirt and equally dusty brown vest, his tufts of dark brown hair playing messily across his brow. He was perched in one of the center seats in the second row, slouched in his seat, with his feet up and crossed on the seat in front of him. Yet, what caught her attention on this otherwise dull- looking boy was the bright strip of red that clung to his neck.  
  
The only reason she was able to draw her eyes away from it was when Benji—Benji, she had forgotten he was even there—nudged her. Of course, once you have forgotten a person is standing next to you, this can cause a shock and that's what it caused for Luxy.  
  
Just as the colorful lady with the broom was about to open her mouth and respond to the boy in the seats, Luxy replied to the surprise nudge by gasping, a rather audible gasp.  
  
After it had occurred, she froze, only to hear what sounded like to her the gasp echoing about the whole room. She quickly glanced over to Benji who had placed his (good) hand to his brow and then to the stage where the Colorful Lady had stopped sweeping and was peering at the left wing of the stage, calling, "Who's there?" The Boy in the Seats had gotten up from those seats and was flickering his gaze between the Colorful Lady and the left wing of the stage, which of course he couldn't see.  
  
"Who's there?" the Colorful Lady inquired again, taking a few steps towards the left wing.  
  
Luxy's hand immediately went to her mouth, and she stepped backwards, her gaze falling on Benji. He was pressed against the wall, the eye that she hadn't made black narrowed and boring into her. He was shaking his head and prepared to lash angry curses out at her, when he was interrupted by the Colorful Lady pushing back a cluster of ropes and spying them.  
  
The only thing Luxy saw was the Colorful Lady's mouth form an O before she turned on her heels and sped to the door, Benji's deep cry of, "LUXY!" following her, only cut shot by the shutting of the door behind her. Breathing heavily and her heart in her mouth, she raced down the well-lit hallway, reaching for the door and slamming into the wall. Pain coursed through her side, yet she took no avail to it as she dashed through the darkened room and grasped with both hands the knob of the door that had let them into this building. With a sob, she yanked on it.  
  
The knob rattled but the door would not budge.  
  
Luxy uttered a scream of desperation and with every iota of strength she posessed she pulled backwards. The door flung open with an audible creak, the heavy rain from outside whipping her face.  
  
Without even looking back, Luxy flung herself around the left corner of the door, the coldness searing her, the rain drenching her. She picked her legs up and ran as fast as was humanly possible. She didn't notice that as she ran, still trouser-less, hardly any souls populated the street due to the ferocious storm.  
  
Thunder was companion to her hearing as she flew this way and that, not knowing where in hell she was going.  
  
At last, she could run no more. Her legs that had grown numb from the coldness now had an impossible pain stringing through them. Luxy slowed her pace, the massive stitch in her side coming almost immediately. Her breathing heavy and in chokes, she placed a hand to her side and struggled to walk on her legs as she stumbled into the mouth of an alley. Struggling, she finally reached the ancient brick wall that marked the end of the alley.  
  
Her voice coming out hoarse, she gasped, "Benj, Benj, we'se did it, Benj! We'se got away from…"  
  
Yet she was cut short, for when she turned around she saw through the heavy, slanted rain that Benji was not there. 


	6. Chapter Five

Note From Author: Woo-hoo! I am actually writing and updating and I am so proud of myself because I never update! I was just sitting here and thinking what a complicated story this will be to write, alas, I shall worry about that when I get to it. Thank you to the people who review, you make my day! Spot has his first glimpse of what his future holds (hint, hint: I try to do foreshadowing in my writing.) So, without any further ado...  
  
CHAPTER FIVE  
  
As Benji Conlon stood there, watching the woman garbed in the frilly costume sweeping the stage through the ropes, he felt another rip of pain surge from his wrist.  
  
"Ah!" he groaned inaudibly, his right hand cradling his left wrist. He knew it was broken for it had swelled and turned a ghastly purple and black color. He knew something had to be done or else he was going to amputate his damn hand to rid of the pain.  
  
It was either get Luxy and scram, but that meant going out into the rain and most likely going home and that didn't sound too keen, or clear his throat, make their appearance known and hope this lady would be nice and maybe have something for his wrist and not just shoo them out of the place with her broom.  
  
He was in favor of the second.  
  
"L-u-x," he said barely above a whisper, his eyes on the woman with the broom.  
  
When she didn't respond, he turned to her and saw that she was off in Never- Never-Land-staring without blinking at something in the seats.  
  
Trying to erase the frustration that was slowly building in him, he took his right elbow and gently nudged her in the side. Yet, that frustration exploded as Luxy elicited an audible gasp and jumped, oh, about five feet in the air.  
  
Benji's jaw fell as his gaze fell once again to the lady, who indeed had heard the noise.  
  
He saw Luxy's wide and stunned eyes bore into his, yet he only stepped backwards, placing a hand to his head in disgust.  
  
"Who's there?" he heard the woman ask.  
  
His eyes narrowed, Benji shifted his gaze to Luxy who was still standing in the direct line of sight, like an idiot.  
  
"Who's there?" She had taken a few steps closer to the wing. All she had to do was pull back the ropes and she would first see Luxy, and then him.  
  
His eyes still on Luxy, she stumbled back and her eyes met his, their gazes interlocking, her hand rising to her mouth.  
  
Benji knew it wasn't her fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. He had prepared to clear his throat to get the woman's attention; she had only gasped and still got the woman's attention. Yet, this day had been utterly heinous: his father's death threat rang in his ears, freezing to death from being in the rain and only wearing trousers, his eye that felt like it was on fire, and his goddamn broken wrist. Alas, he needed someone to place the blame on, and right now, there was the perfect one to place it on: standing in the center of the left wing: raven hair hanging limp down her back, clad in his only extra shirt, the collar shirt which rode up to show her thin legs and undergarments, electric blue eyes wide, and face full of absolute fear.  
  
It was when Benji prepared to utter curses at Luxy that his father saved only for his mother, the ropes and pulleys were pulled back to reveal the surprised face of the woman, her mouth dropping.  
  
The next few moments were only a blur to him. His stare still transfixed on the woman, out of the corner of his eye he saw Luxy turn on her heels and disappear. He whipped his head in her direction just in time to see her dart out of the door that lead to the hallway. "LUXY!"  
  
He was frozen to the spot. He couldn't will his legs to pick up so he could race after Luxy. He was caught. Caught, as the woman pushed past the ropes and stood in front of him. "What are you doing here? Out out, get out!" she cried, pushing the broom away from her, trying to swat Benji.  
  
Benji was still in a state of shock, as his legs were forced to move him backwards.  
  
"Out! Out!" she hissed, bringing the broom to his feet. All the while his gaze was fixed on the woman's, Benji did not see this action. He realized it all too late as he took a step backwards, his footing getting caught in the broom. It happened in one slow, chain reaction. First his right foot slipped from underneath him, then his left leg buckled, and then he was in the air for a splice of a second on his back. It occurred all so quickly that he just knew he had to protect his head, so not thinking at all, he spread his left hand, letting it take all the force.  
  
His palm did not touch the floor in one sweet rolling motion, quite the contrary it hit the floor with a clean, even thud, followed by the cracking of the broken bone and then the remainder of his body.  
  
And then the pain came.  
  
The pain Benjamin Conlon felt at that moment was more atrocious than anything he had encountered in his entire life span. More atrocious than his father's harsh, alcohol-tainted cries. More atrocious than the reality that the day he was going to have to work in the factory was dawning quite soon. More atrocious than his mother's screams of help. And even more atrocious than the sound of the air being sliced by the cane when his father was drunk and angry and going to beat the living soul out of him.  
  
His breath coming out in gasps and his hearing now void to the woman's shouts, he raised his head from the ground and slowly picked up his wrist. The pain was so sharp, so intense, that it caused Benji to black out.  
  
* Benji knew he was dreaming. Of course, he was unconscious at the time, yet somehow he knew he was dreaming.  
  
In his dream, he was under the Sentinel in The Park with Julie, the dear beautiful Julie that had up and run away the previous summer with David Something-Or-Other. Or, at least he thought it was he and Julie.  
  
He was viewing the dream from a first person perspective. It was he that was with his back against the trunk of the old elm, holding Julie. As he looked out at the surrounding, he found the climate was quite peculiar. The sun was a golden orb hovering high and clear in the sky, yet pure white snow fell all around.  
  
Yet, he felt neither warm nor cool. He only felt Julie's grip tighten around his torso. His gaze flickered down to her. Julie, beautiful Julie with her head resting on his shoulder and her raven hair glitter-shot blue in the sunlight or the snowlight or whatever you would dare call it.  
  
Without force, he was surprised when he opened his mouth and said, "Why won't you come with me?"  
  
And Julie tilted her head up and looked at him.yet, it wasn't Julie. There was something different in the eyes and the nose. "Julie" blinked, and the light caught her fiery blue eyes, eyes that were familiar.  
  
Then a delirious notion struck him. Perhaps it was not Julie next to him. Perhaps it was.Luxy.only older somehow.  
  
He then looked down at his body. His hands, his arms, his legs. All were bigger, wider, longer.  
  
Luxy and I, older? His subconscious questioned.  
  
As he tried to ponder this, he suddenly was interrupted by his voice, "Why won't you come?"  
  
Julie, or Luxy, or whoever the hell she was, did not answer, only rose to her feet. As she did so, the snow and the sun faded, leaving the atmosphere black as raven feathers. She stood, and started to wave her hands up and down.  
  
Benji felt a cluster of dreamy feelings clash within him as the scene dimmed, blurred, as he suddenly felt reality take its hold on him once more.  
  
The dream faded, and the fantastic pain hit him immediately once more. Inhaling deeply, his eyes fluttered open and he quickly sat up. When his sight readjusted, he realized that he was still in the left wing of the theatre, the woman waving her hands wildly in front of his face.  
  
"Alright, alright!" he hissed, swatting the woman's hands away.  
  
The woman, her face deathly pale under the heavy make-up, leaned back onto her knees. "You fainted."  
  
"Sure did," another voice murmured in agreement.  
  
Benji's shifted his gaze to see a boy of thirteen standing over him, pushing back his dingy brown hair from his face.  
  
He sucked in a breath, trying to stifle the pain radiating from his wrist. "I'se didn't faint."  
  
"Then what else would you call it?" the woman shrilly asked.  
  
He narrowed his eyes. "I'se call it blackin' out from pain from an already broken wrist cause some lady tripped ya wit a broom."  
  
The woman raised an eyebrow, yet said no more and only stood up, lending a hand to Benji, pulling him to his feet. "Then maybe you wouldn't be in this pain right now if you wouldn't have come sneaking into private property."  
  
He grimaced in her direction, running his right hand through his brown hair, slicking it. "Well, I'se so sorry Miss, but I wouldn't have snuck into ya joint if me and me friend hadn't been runnin' from me faddah who wants to kill us and while we were runnin' it started to rain. Me eye hurt like hell, me hand hurt like hell, me faddah wanted to kill me, and I wasn't gonna add to that pile pneumonia from the goddamn rain. Now if ya 'scuse me, I will go cause me eye still hurts like hell, me hand still hurts like hell, and me faddah still wants to kill me, and I have to find my friend."  
  
With that, he turned on his heels and walked towards the door that would lead him to the well-lit hallway. Then he would have to go out into the searing cold rain and hunt for Luxy, moronic Luxy who had fled like the Devil himself was on her heels. That being if he didn't black out again from the pain.  
  
His hand on the knob of the door, he was about to turn it when the woman's voice stopped him. "I say, but I've never seen one like you. I have a right mind to call the police on you, breaking and entering and then acting as though it is my fault that I am being so harsh on you. I should, but I won't. Turn around will you?"  
  
Slowly, the woman's words echoing through his brain, he turned around, his ice blue eyes locked on hers.  
  
She had already covered the distance that separated them, and was now standing in front of him. "Let me see your wrist."  
  
Of course, Benji knew he shouldn't have given his wrist to her. He was in a miserable mood and he did not want to give her the satisfaction that she could coerce him in to doing what she commanded.  
  
Yet, he did.  
  
The woman gently took it in her grasp, giving it the once over. Locking with his eyes, she said, "Indeed, it is broken. What's your name?"  
  
And without skipping a beat, Benji replied, "Ben. Ben Conlon."  
  
"Well, Ben Conlon," she replied, dropping his wrist. "I am Medda Larkin, the Swedish Meadow Lark. And you are in the left wing of my Irving Hall."  
  
Benji sighed. "Nice joint. Well, it's been a peach meetin' ya, Medda Larkin, the Swedish Meadow Lark but I have to go find me friend." He then turned as he heard the boy's words behind him, "Wait! Ya have to find ya friend? I have to go anyway and sell me papes. I could keep ya company."  
  
Benji stopped and arched his head to face the boy. "Ya papes?"  
  
The boy nodded, striding over to Benji. "Yeah, ya know, me papes. Me newspapers."  
  
Benji raised an eyebrow. "Ya sell newspapers?"  
  
The boy exchanged glances with Medda. "Yeah," he slowly said, "I'se a newsie. Never heard of one?"  
  
Benji snorted as he took a step back. "Ya mean ya don't woik in the factory?"  
  
After yet another exchange of curious looks, the boy replied "N..no. I don't woik in no factory. Never hoid of this factory ya tawkin' about. It was either live in the orphanage or be a newsie. I chose bein' a newsie."  
  
Although this boy with the odd cowboy hat draped around his neck did not realize it, he had profoundly changed Benjamin Conlon. So one didn't have to slave away in the factory? He could be a newsie? He could.  
  
"AH!" His thoughts were derailed when a surge of intense pain found its way up his arm.  
  
"Ya wrist?" the boy asked.  
  
Benji nodded, gritting his teeth.  
  
"Here," the boy said, untying a strip of red cloth from about his neck. "It's me lucky bandanna. Me pa gave it to me. Maybe it'll keep ya hand straight or somethin'."  
  
Benji watched in awe as the boy carefully wound the bandanna about his wrist and between his fingers, finishing by knotting it tightly.  
  
"Bettah?" he asked, stepping back.  
  
Benji nodded, rubbing his wrist.  
  
"Well, isn't that grand, now? It always helps to have Jack around," Medda piped in.  
  
Benji's eyes immediately flickered to the boy. "Ya name is Jack?"  
  
"Yeah," he nodded. "Jack. Jack Kelly."  
  
A wave of gratefulness washed over Benji. Nobody save Luxy had ever given a damn about him before. It was alien to him that others could actually be compassionate. "Th.thanks."  
  
"Hey, no problem!" Jack Kelly beamed, crouching to the ground and hoisting a stack of newspapers onto his shoulder. "Well, Medda, thanks for lettin' me visit ya, but I better be goin'."  
  
"Anytime, Jack," Medda replied, then turning to Benji said, "And you are welcome here anytime you like. And when you find your little friend, too."  
  
Benji only stood dumbfounded as Jack turned to him and cried, "Well, Ben, are ya comin' or not? Ya friend could be anywhere in Manhattan!"  
  
He muttered a stricken farewell to the woman as he followed Jack out the left wing and into the hallway, where Jack began to whistle a tune. "Now, Ben, this friend we lookin' for, is she ya goil?"  
  
Benji let out a choke as he peered incredulously at Jack. "Ya mean Lux?"  
  
Jack shrugged, tugging open the door and striding into the dark room. "Yeah, if that's what her name is."  
  
Benji had to utter a laugh as he shut the door behind him, the darkness impairing his vision. "Luxy? Nah, she's only me best friend. Only thing I have feelin's for on the face of the oith."  
  
Jack raised an eyebrow as they stepped out into the bright, blinding sunlight. "Hey, it stopped rainin'. Whaddya know!"  
  
Benji matched Jack's long strides. "Jist askin', that's all. Poitty goil. Though I reckon that she's poittier when she isn't wearin' a look of sheer fear on her face."  
  
Benji remained silent, pondering this statement. "Never really noticed, ya know?"  
  
Jack raised his eyes, the sunlight blinding them. "So, about this factory ya were tawkin' about."  
  
"The factory," Benji echoed grimly. "It's where I thought all the guys had to go and woik when they toin thirteen."  
  
Jack released a chuckle. "Well, I'se toined thirteen last month and they never sent me to no factory. Or maybe it's jist cause they don't want no streetrats like us woikin' for them. Anyhow, it don't make no difference to me. Won't be a newsie forever. Will be a cowboy soon."  
  
Benji's eye caught the cowboy hat. "A cowboy? How can ya? Don't they live in Texas?"  
  
Jack's grin widened. "Don't know about no cowboys in Texas. I'se only know that they have cowboys in Santa Fe. Santa Fe, yup, that's where me ma and pa are. They out buyin' land there and when they do they'se gonna send for me and then I can be a real cowboy! Yee-haw!" He then leaped in the air and clicked his heels.  
  
Benji couldn't help but smile. "Wish I could be a cowboy." Then a thought occurred to him that made him smack himself on the forehead from stupidity. "Ah, dammit! I'se supposed to be lookin' for Lux! I wonder where in hell she can be?"  
  
Jack halted and slapped Benji on the back. "Hey, don't worry! I'se sure you'se gonna find her. Anyhow, I better be goin'. See that crowd over there, there's a lot of customers who just might be int'rested in buyin' a pape."  
  
Benji fell in posture and sighed. "Jesus, I'se gonna have to go look for her and then if I find her."  
  
Jack's grin fell as he placed a hand on Benji's shoulder. "Hey, Ben, give yaself a break. Look for her later. Here, I know a little diner jist a few blocks from here called Tibby's. They serve real good food. Take a load off there for a while."  
  
Benji's hands went for either pocket and he pulled them out. Empty.  
  
Yet, Jack only smiled as his free hand went to his pocket and he fished around, at last pulling out a few coins. "Here, I got some extra money. Take it and go to the diner. Or maybe ya should git yaself a shirt."  
  
Spot's eyes glinted. "Hey, I'se have a shirt! It's jist that I'se was in a rush this mornin'."  
  
"Hey, it's alright!" Jack laughed. "I'se understand. Here, take the money. Go to Tibby's and eat some food. Hey, maybe ya goil will be there."  
  
Reluctantly, Benji took the money. "Thanks, Jack."  
  
"Hey, it's no problem," he replied, their gazes locking. A smile crept over his face. "Pardon me for sayin', but that's some spot ya got there on ya eye!"  
  
Benji's eyes widened as his hand went to his right eye. In all of it, he had forgotten the shiner that Luxy had given him. "Is it that bad?"  
  
Jack released a chuckle as he picked up his heels. "Hey, it suits ya, Spot!"  
  
Benji watched as Jack Kelly disappeared into the mass of pedestrians, the faint shouting of the headlines ringing in his ears. As he stood there, he knew not at all what Jack Kelly's parting statement would due for him later in life.  
  
*** Each raindrop that fell from the black-gray swirled morning sky was like an hour gone by for Luxy Listin. She had no iota of time as she stood, back facing the peeling brick wall of the alley, mouth gaping, raven hair limp down her back and Benji's white-collar shirt plastered to her petite body.  
  
For the life of her, she couldn't recall how many times she had shrieked his name, only to have the words die, pounded weakly into the ground by the harsh, brutal raindrops, only to be snubbed. She couldn't tell if bitter tears slid down her cheeks, or if it was the stinging rain.  
  
She felt dizzy and weak and sick from the rain and tears and not having Benji by her side. She screamed and scolded herself for being so damn hasty and jumping the gun and running out of that building without checking and making sure that Benji was behind her.  
  
Luxy wasn't worried about her own little self and if she was lost or going to catch pnemonia; on the contrary, she almost felt like doubling over from the waves of nausea that washed over her over the thoughts that clouded her head about what could have possibly happened to Benji. Poor Benji, with a broken wrist and black eye. The Colorful Lady could have called the bulls on him, they could have arrested him, and Oh Christ, they could have returned him to his father.his father and the bitch of a cane. The cane could be in Mr. Conlon's grasp right now, connecting with Benji's skull; his mother's screams meshing with the sickening cracking of his skull bone.  
  
Howls of agony slithered through Luxy's mouth as she stumbled towards the mouth of the alley, blinded to the shards of shattered bottles that cut her feet. As she reached the pavement once again, a fantastic gust sliced through the air, howling like a wounded wolf, almost knocking Luxy off her feet. Stabilizing her balance and brushing her wavering hair off her face, she scanned the unusually deserted sidewalks and storefronts for any signs of life. Through the thick falls of slanted, gray rain, Luxy knew that she was utterly and hopelessly lost: she was nowhere near the Italian district.  
  
Wrapping her arms around her torso to salvage what warmth she possibly could, she started down the sidewalk, her bloodied feet hindering her walking.  
  
"OH MY GOD!" she howled. "ANYBODY! SOMEBODY!"  
  
Squinting, almost ready to surrender out of the corner of her eye she faintly saw what looked like the outline of a cloak. Gasping and eyes widening, she looked harder, and indeed saw it to bee a person, head bowed against the rain, footsteps hurried.  
  
Letting all her inhibitions flow forth, she dropped her arms to her side and picked up her heels, darting to the sidewalk parallel to the one on which the bloody trails of her wounded feet were being washed away on.  
  
"Mister, Mister! Wait, please!" she screamed, reaching the other sidewalk, breathing heavy. The hooded figure in the dingy brown cloak still continued, alien to her cries, head bowed.  
  
"Mister, please! For Christ's sake, stop!" she howled, increasing her speed, wincing from a shard of glass that was still buried in the flesh on the arch.  
  
Incredibly, the figure stopped. Huffing, Luxy halted a few feet behind him, a shiver dancing its way up her spine.  
  
"Mister." she stammered, pushing a tangle of wet hair out of her vision. "I'se don't know where I'se at...I'se."  
  
The breath harshly caught in Luxy's throat and she felt her stomach drop with a sickening feeling to the ground as the figure turned around. Through the rain, framed by the faded brown of the hood was the sever features of Mr. Antonio Antonelli. She felt herself take an involuntary step backward as Mr. Antonelli's piercing black eyes continued to stare her down.  
  
It was a tacit rule that all children stayed away from Mr. Antonelli. Although Natalie Listin hadn't come directly forward and let the words flow off her sharp tongue, Luxy always felt her mother's temper rise when Mr. Antonelli's name was mentioned. She never knew why people though him strange: he was a man in his late forties who had emigrated from Italy for what seemed like eternity ago. Mr. Antonelli lived in the apartment above Luxy alone, and on many occasions she and Benji would stare out his bed room window and into the open window of Mr. Antonelli's apartment and speculate what he was doing. Benji said that Mr. Antonelli was a child mole easter; he said that he had heard his father and his father's friend talking about Mr. Antonelli one day and they said bad things about him and that he liked little girls. Luxy didn't know what a child mole easter was, but she knew it must be bad. She also didn't particularly like it when Benji said that he would let Mr. Antonelli get her. She knew that Benji was just all bullshit, he would never let Mr. Antonelli get her, but right now Benji wasn't here. It was just Luxy and Mr. Antonelli with his horrid black eyes.  
  
"What are you doing out here in a storm like this all by yourself, little girl?" Mr. Antonelli's thick Italian cut through the rain, sending a shiver down Luxy's spine.  
  
She took another slow step back, her breath bated. "I.I.I."  
  
"Why aren't you home, little girl, in bed like a good little girl?" Mr. Antonelli's slithery, slimy voice sweetly inquired.  
  
"I.I.I.Mr. Antonelli."Luxy stammered, her wide azure eyes still locked on his pitch ones, yet now his gaze wasn't connected with hers anymore.he was scanning her body up and down up and down.  
  
Luxy felt sick. She didn't like what Mr. Antonelli was doing. Her body had just started to develop that summer, and being a tomboy, she wasn't pleased at her mothers sporadic naggings that she wear a brassiere. She still had splashed about in the lake that summer with Benji like she always had, with only a pair of one of her older sisters' hand-me-down knickers on. Her mother had been appalled at this action, and Benji had only made a few jabs over her not-so-flat chest. But she didn't care. She hadn't cared or felt self-conscious of her body until this very moment. Until this very moment with Mr. Antonelli's awful eyes boring down on her body, see-through in only Benji's white shirt and a pair of Meg's old panties, both soaked from the rain.  
  
She backed away. Mr. Antonelli noticed this and his contact broke with her body and flickered to her eyes. Luxy hunched, ready to take off at any second, to get away from Mr. Antonelli and his horrible smirk.  
  
He cocked his head to one side, a bizarre smile lighting up his face, a smile that chilled Luxy to her bones. She had never witnessed a smile like that, save when she was audience to a time when she was in Benji's room and Mr. Conlon came home late at night, stone drunk, and whipped out his came and beat Benji to within an inch of his life. "Where are you going, little girlie? I can take you home, little girlie. You live below me, don't you, little girlie?"  
  
The message lit up in Luxy's mind in bright, fiery letters: RUN! Yet, her feet were cemented to the pavement. She could stare only into his sickening ebony eyes.  
  
"I can take you home, little girlie. Come with Mr. Antonelli. He can take you home."  
  
It was when Mr. Antonelli outstretched his arms, almost catching Luxy in his grasp, that she let out a squeal and spun on her heel, picked up her feet, and ran like hell.  
  
"Girlie, girlie, girlie! Why are you running from Mr. Antonelli, little girlie! He wants to help you!"  
  
The words seeped into her ears, as did the thundering of Mr. Antonelli's heavy boots on the drenched sidewalk behind her.  
  
"STOP!" she screamed, not daring to turn around, not daring to slow her pace, in fear that Mr. Antonelli might catch her and put her away in his collection of little girls, like Benji had said he had.  
  
A flash of lightening lit up the glimmering rain on the sidewalk and a deafening crackle of thunder caused Luxy's heart to beat faster. She thought, for one minute, that Mr. Antonelli was no longer behind her, that somehow he had given up.  
  
Alas, she was corrected when she felt a sharp tug on her hair occur that felt like the scalp had been ripped from her skull. Letting out a howl of agony to rival Benji's when he injured his wrist, she felt her legs buckle beneath her as she fell to the pavement. Letting out a sob, the pain washed over her fast and quickly. She felt herself being sharply drug backwards as a hard pair of hard, clammy hands grasped her ankles.  
  
"NO, NO, NO! PLEASE, HELP!" she screamed through the tears and rain. She then felt the hands start to roughly tug off Meg's old pair of panties. "NO! NO! NO!" her hysterical sobs filled the air as she kicked her legs with a vengeance.  
  
"Stop your whining, you little bitch," Mr. Antonelli's hard, huff voice growled as he succeeded in pulling off her panties and holding them to his nose, inhaling.  
  
"NO!" Luxy croaked. She thrashed her legs violently. Her cries ceased for a moment, though, when she felt Mr. Antonelli's hand slide between her legs. Her high-pitched shriek ruptured the air, and her right heel finally connected with Mr. Antonelli's chin, causing him to cry out in pain and curses, removing his hand.  
  
Without thinking twice, Luxy let out a cry and wiggled her way to her knees, before straightening and taking off, Mr. Antonelli's expletives and shouts invading her poor ears. Tears flowing freely down her cheeks and screaming herself hoarse, she panned both sides of the streets, looking for any signs of life. At last through the blinding rain, she saw a tiny light in the window of a square, ancient redbrick building. Halting and collapsing against the door, she fumbled for the door handle, her mind numb, her legs ready to buckle beneath her. The door swung open, and she stumbled in, half delirious, to have bright, warm, blurry colors blind her and the overwhelming scent of lavender invade her nostrils.  
  
The door blowing in the raging storm behind her, she stumbled a few feet, murmuring incoherent things, before collapsing then blacking out.  
  
*  
  
The dream. The dream was so deliciously wonderful. She felt an overwhelming sense of love for Benji as she lay buried in Benji's chest and smelling his wonderful scent under The Sentinel in The Park.  
  
It was wonderful to have Benji's heavy arm around her, to have the sparkling orb in the sky and the white snow falling all around. She was in love with Benji; Benji was her soul mate and they were to be married.  
  
She buried her face into his chest, his chest adorned with a clean, crisp white-collared shirt and was about to confess her spectacular and undying affection for him when he interrupted her. "Why won't you come with me?"  
  
She looked up at him, stunned, surprised and blinked. I will go anywhere with you, she subconsciously said. Why would you say such a thing?  
  
He stared into her soul with his impossibly deep eyes. "Why won't you come with me?"  
  
Come with you? I would die for you! I will go anywhere for you!  
  
Yet Benji rose to his feet and as he did the wonderful snow and run faded into black, cold hard glassy black.  
  
I love you!  
  
Benji started to wave his arms to and fro and the dream faded.  
  
Conscienceless slowly return to Luxy. Her eyes slowly opened to reveal fuzzy vision. Her ears were invaded with the sounds of faint grunts and moans. The suffocating smell of lavender once again filled her nose.  
  
Slowly, her double vision faded and the sounds became more audible. The last stage of complete consciousness made her eyes flutter open and she jolted away with a cry. Her eyes wide, she panned her surrounding.  
  
A bedroom schemed in royal purples and pale lavenders encapsulated what appeared to be a soft and fuzzy carpet. A lovely canopy bed draped in all colors of the purple spectrum was planted in the center of the room against a wall, looking ever so inviting. A blazing fire roared in the hearth. Luxy realized that she was perched in a soft lavender chair, the mate parallel to her. Carefully throwing off the warm blanket that had been placed over her, she let her left foot touch the carpet. She closed her eyes in ecstasy and rubbed the ball of her foot into the softness of the rug.  
  
Climbing down from the chair, she crawled on her hands and knees to as close to the fire as she could get, letting the delectable heat lick her face. Yet, the grunts and howls filled her head once more. Opening her eyes, she looked down and gasped to see that she was no longer clothed in Benji's shirt, alas, she was draped in a soft white, yet old, nightgown that possessed a few tatters, yet had a reassuring scent about it.  
  
Slowly and cautiously rising to her feet, the nightgown touching the floor, her vision fell to a door. The door that seemed to contain the odd shrieks and moans. Carefully glancing about the room once more, she padded across the soft carpet, not making a sound, her arm outstretched.  
  
Her breath caught, she carefully placed her palm on the brass knob. Yet, Luxy didn't even realize that as she prepared to turn the knob, the strange sounds had halted. As she turned one way, the knob turned the opposite way from the inside, and the door flung open, causing Luxy to let out a cry of surprise and fall forward into the doorway. "I say!" a deep voice declared.  
  
Her breathing sharp, Luxy turned her eyes up to see a flustered looking man in tails staring down at her.  
  
Tacitly, she hurried to her feet, never leaving the gentleman's stare.  
  
The gentleman instead dropped his gaze and reached into his coat pocket to a handkerchief, which her quickly patted his sweaty forehead with. "Well, Rose, I want to thank you, er, so much. I will be seeing you."  
  
The nervous looking gentleman bowed and scuttled over Luxy before exiting through a door in the purple bedroom. Luxy then heard the deep sigh.  
  
She turned her gaze to find a wonderfully perplexing sight. A woman, one to rival the Colorful Lady, stood in the doorway connecting the two bedrooms with her. Stuffed into a tight fitting red dress with her bosoms overflowing from, her tight tendrils of hellfire red hair were piled onto her head. Her defined eyebrows were arched and her green eyes sparkled lifelessly beneath the heavy liner.  
  
Luxy stood, mystified, as the woman let out yet another sigh, and placing her hands on her hips, exited the doorway and made her way over to the fire, warming her hands in front of it.  
  
Luxy stood, head cocked and mouth gaped, as the woman went on as though she was invisible. Finally, without looking up from the fire, the woman asked, "Didn't like the fire did ya?"  
  
Luxy stammered for a reply, yet nothing came out.  
  
The woman turned her head, her eyebrow in an incredible arch. "Well, why you standing in the doorway? Soaked to the bone and probably with a cold. The fire will do you good."  
  
Luxy dropped her jaw, unable to reply. Her gaze never left the strange woman as she quietly padded across the wonderful carpet and once again sat in the lavender chair in front of the warm fire.  
  
The woman was now humming a tune as she left the fire and went over to the bed, Luxy's gaze following her. The questions that were burning in her soul couldn't be kept captured any longer: "Who are you, where am I, and where's Benji?"  
  
The woman looked up, an amused expression playing across her face. "Well, kid," she said, smoothing the covers of the bed and then taking a seat, "If you must know, I am Rose, Rose Danson, you are in the Red Bull, and I am sorry, but I don't know where Benji is."  
  
Involuntarily, Luxy rose from the chair and joined the woman on the bed, her electric eyes boring into her. "What was that man doing here?"  
  
Rose Danson smiled, a nice quiet smile, and let out a small laugh. "Oh, well, kid, this is a brothel. Of course men are going to be here."  
  
Luxy recoiled in her Indian-style sitting position on the bed. "You mean." She had heard of a brothel before. The word had been brought up in a rather nasty argument between her mother and father one night after her father went to a brothel once. She had been in bed with her sisters, listening to the yelling. She hadn't known what one was until her mother screamed in French something about her father being a cheating scoundrel, going to whorehouses to fuck dirty scarlet women. And Rose Danson sure was a scarlet woman. "You're a scarlet woman?"  
  
Rose released a small laugh. "Oh, if you want to put it that way, I guess you could."  
  
"But," Luxy countered, then stopped. The scent of lavender was starting to intoxicate her mind, making her feel drowsy and just curling up on the bed and sleeping forever.  
  
"You came in here, all wet and hysterical and crying. Annabelle found you passed out. They were going to throw you out, but I have a little girl of my own about your age, Ruby, and I knew that that would be an awful thing to do. So, I brought you up here. I hope you don't catch cold."  
  
Luxy sleepily looked up into Rose's emerald green eyes, and felt safe and warm. A yawn escaped her lips.  
  
Luxy's mind began to shut down, and she started to fall back onto the soft covers when Rose asked, "What's your name?"  
  
"Lu-xy," she laxly replied, eyelids falling.  
  
"Luxy, that's a pretty name. Now, kid, who is this Benji that you are looking for?"  
  
Benji. The name was like a shower of icy cold water being poured over her. She immediately sat up, eyes wide. "Oh, Benji, Jesus Christ, Benji!" she cried, throwing her legs over the bed.  
  
"Kid, wait!" Rose called, jumping and grasping her by the shoulder.  
  
Luxy turned to her. "I can't. I'm sorry. Thanks you whatevah ya did.but I hafta find me friend."  
  
Rose's eyes bored into her. "Luxy, it's a shame to see you go. I could have used some company." Her eyes fell to a window. "It stopped raining out."  
  
Luxy's heart jumped, yet at the same time, an awful pang of hunger reared its ugly head.  
  
The scarlet woman raised one of her perfect brows. "What's the matter?"  
  
Luxy felt like doubling over the pain was that atrocious. "Nothing," she grunted, placing a hand over her stomach.  
  
"Look, you wait here a minute, kid." Rose quickly rose from the bed and crossed the room to a small vanity. Opening a small drawer, she brought forth a small beaded purple sack. "Here," she said, returning to Luxy, "hold out your hand." Luxy did as she was commanded, and Rose shook a few coins from the purse and into her hand.  
  
Luxy raised her eyes to Rose's. "Look, kid," Rose quietly smiled. "There's a diner a few blocks from here. Called Tibby's. Great apple pie. Get yourself a slice, you deserve it. Maybe this Benji kid is there."  
  
Luxy let her mouth drop. She stepped back, holding the coins out. "Oh, no, I.I.I can't accept this."  
  
Rose nodded. "Oh, yes you can. And you will. Now scat. Go get some good apple pie."  
  
Gingerly, yet gratefully, accepting the money, Luxy started for the door, when she halted, turning around.  
  
"Keep the nightgown. You only have that guy's shirt, and I don't know what happened to your underwear, kid."  
  
Underwear. Luxy felt a large lump start to form in her throat. Mr. Antonelli. She needed to find Benji. Without thinking, Luxy flung herself across the room and wrapped herself around Rose. "Thank you," she sighed.  
  
Rose returned the smile, running her fingers through the girl's now bone- dry raven hair. "Anytime you come and ask for Rose, kid."  
  
Luxy removed herself from the scarlet woman, and picking up Benji's crinkled white shirt, gave one last goodbye to Rose Danson, closing the door, the wonderful purple colors and lavender smell behind her.  
  
* Rose Danson had been correct. As Luxy padded barefoot down the now populated and noisy streets of Manhattan, the frigid breezes of a dying winter that was still trying to rule the atmosphere licked her skin, yet the warm rays of the almost near spring sun warmed her back.  
  
Pushing her way irritably through the pedestrians, Luxy tried miserably to fight the pangs of hunger and the fear of not finding Benji as she reassuringly clutched the coins in her clammy hand.  
  
"Just a few blocks away. Just a few blocks away," she softly chanted over and over again.  
  
Then, finally, after what seemed like hours of walking for Luxy, she saw it. The glorious sign that proclaimed TIBBY'S. The hunger now almost entirely consuming her, she picked up her heels and was only a few buildings from it when she felt something hard and strong clamp itself around her torso and vacuum the breath from her body. Wheezing, the strong object drug her into an alley, a dank dark alley, the red eyes of rats and the reflection of the sun off the glitter-shot glass bottles visible.  
  
The grasp around her middle was so tight, Luxy could inhale or exhale a single breath. She felt liable to explode as the whatever drug her deeper and deeper into the alley-the busy street she once occupied with the ignorant pedestrians lit up by dark walls of the alley, framed like some sick picture. A picture that was getting smaller and smaller.  
  
Finally, remarkably, the excruciatingly tight grip left her torso and let her fall to the ground, letting her collect a large mouthful of glorious, fresh air. Alas, she hadn't had time to release the breath when she felt a hand go to her throat, throwing her against one of the slimy, moldy walls, pinning her there, her feet a foot off the ground. Her breath now came out in awful squeals and wheezes.  
  
"You got away from me, little girlie, yes, you did." The voice was terrible and rough, as though it belonged to that of the Devil himself.  
  
Luxy let out another series of squeaks as she thrashed her body about, yet that man's grip only got tighter. She felt one of the figure's hands leave her throat. A second later, she felt a piece of cloth dangling in front of her face.  
  
"Girlie, girlie, girlie."  
  
"Oh God!" her muffled cry came. Mr. Antonelli! Mr. Antonelli had cornered her yet again. He had Meg's panties. She had to get away. In one motion, she bucked her lower body and allowed her teeth to come down hard on Mr. Antonelli's hand.  
  
He let out a terrible yell, tearing his hands away from her throat, causing Luxy to fall to the ground, gasping for breath and rubbing her pained neck.  
  
Mr. Antonelli was bellowing out horrible curses and was hunched, cradling his injured hand. With every ounce of her being, Luxy willed herself to her feet and began to run.  
  
"GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE WHORE!" Mr. Antonelli's screams seeped into her brain.  
  
"NO! NO! NO!" Luxy screamed back.  
  
The light. The light and the sidewalk and the people were getting closer. Closer. If only she could make it.  
  
She felt the same iron grip snake its way around her torso, pulling her back, causing her to lose her breath and fling like a rag doll.  
  
"NO! NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!" she sobbed.  
  
She felt Mr. Antonelli's putrid, hot breath in her ear as his right hand cupped the side of her face, forcefully turning it towards him. "You. You, little girlie, you won't tell nobody about this, you hear. You hear!" he screeched, roughly snapping her head, causing her to burst into bitter tears. "Because, because if you do, if you tell anybody, I will kill your family. You hear that? I live above you and will know if you tell and then I will kill your family!"  
  
Luxy emitted a futile screech as Mr. Antonelli pitched her forward into the soot and broken glass.  
  
"Nobody," he growled, kicking dirt onto her face with his heavy boot and spitting on her.  
  
Mr. Antonelli parted leaving Luxy in an awful pile on the ground, doused in hysterical sobs.  
  
After what seemed like eternity, Luxy finally picked herself up. Stumbling, disheveled, and with a nasty gash streaming blood on her left cheek from a shard of glass, she made her way to the mouth of the alley, blinking in the light. She stumbled her way to Tibby's, not caring if she pumped into pedestrians. The bell over the door tinkled and a few patrons looked up from their food and newspaper to see a twelve-year-old girl in a filthy, ripped oversized white nightgown with wild black hair and a soot-covered and bloodied face wander blindly into Tibby's, tears leaving trails on the soil on her face.  
  
The world around Luxy was a haze. She didn't know nor care to see where she was going. She wished to be in the purple room in the Red Bull with the intoxicating scent of lavender all about her. She would have continued like this if a voice, clear as clean crystal, hadn't said: "Luxy?"  
  
The haze or the fog or whatever it was seemed to have lifted and Luxy could see clearly now. She looked around, confused, looking for the bearer who uttered her name. She thought herself insane until she heard it again: "Luxy?"  
  
She knew instantaneously who it was. Benji.  
  
She turned and spied him, sitting at a table by himself, a platter of food and drink in front of him. Benji, in only trousers, his silly black eye, and a red bandanna around his wrist. Benji, an expression of utter shock and worry abounded on his face.  
  
"Oh, Benji," Luxy said, before erupting into hysterical tears and dashing over to him, nearly knocking his chair over.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Benji cried, looking around at the gawking onlookers for a moment at the odd girl who was sobbing onto his chest.  
  
"Oh, Benji!" she howled, clawing at his chest.  
  
"Lux, Lux, Lux, it's alright. It's fine. Shhh," he said softly, wrapping his arms around her.  
  
Luxy shook her head wildly. "No, no, no. It's not.it's not!"  
  
"Yeah it is, Luxy," he replied. "Yeah it is."  
  
Somehow, Luxy found Benji's hot breath in her ear comforting, and she quieted down.  
  
"There, Luxy," he said. "It's alright. Now where da hell where ya, and why ya all doity?"  
  
Luxy didn't answer. She only raised her mouth to his ear and whispered in a fear clad voice, "Benji, I love you."  
  
Benji raised an eyebrow as a red wash fell across his face. "Yeah, Lux, I'se love ya too. Now, ya want some food?"  
  
Luxy was deaf to Benji's words. In her soul kindled the most fear she had ever felt.it was immortal fear. For in the corner of the plate glass window in the façade of Tibby's was Mr. Antonelli, his awful black eyes piercing her soul from under his dingy brown hood.  
  
Luxy blinked.  
  
And the eyes were gone. 


	7. Chapter Six

Dear Who Ever Reads This: All things are written for a purpose, and if you were thinking: what the hell does all that stuff in Chapter Five have to do with the story, well let me say that it is foundation for key elements in the plot.how ever the plot may go.or whatever..  
  
A lyric from Shooter popped into my head just now: "Life's a bitch and then you die." Hell, that sums up my story.  
  
CHAPTER SIX  
  
The nights when her husband had been out at some miscellaneous pub, Nora Conlon had sat on her son's bed with him. Benji would be snuggled against her soft, frumpy body, his eyes peacefully closed, sleep ready to conquer the last shard of energy in his soul for the night. Yet, before he finally drifted into slumber, Nora would open The Bible to where they had left off from the previous, erratic night ago and read him a few verses.  
  
A particular story from The Book now blazed painfully in Benji's mind as his eyes followed a crack snaking the dark gray sidewalk.  
  
The story about Jesus and the Last Supper. The last meal that He had had the day before He was to be crucified.  
  
It was so damn funny how his life paralleled Jesus Christ's right now that he burst into a snort, rupturing the silence of the cool spring night.  
  
Benji was going to die tomorrow. Correction, he was sentence to die tomorrow. Things had been all dandy and innocent in his life up until now. How one day could fuck up your entire life was beyond him. For him, that day was today: April 2nd, the day of his thirteenth birthday, the last day of his childhood.  
  
Pictures of the factory where he was to start work tomorrow too grotesque to even try to encapsulate into words swarmed through his mind on that cool spring night as he walked with a silent, somber Luxy, her arm linked heavily through his, the echoing sounds of their shoes thudding on the pavement.  
  
Benji had had his Last Supper already. Luxy had been a good friend and had somehow-it was beyond him-had salvaged enough money to take him to his favorite restaurant, a humble joint on the skirts of Manhattan called Little Italy. They had dined together there countless other times-laughing, carefree scavengers (sneaking around the backdoor, Luxy would distract Tony, the owner, as Benji stole food from behind his back, before they would both go running off, cackling, Tony's yells in their ears.) But now, it was real. Luxy had dressed up in her best (an old dress of Annie's) and Benji had thrown on some of his cloths. Still, they were kids and when they were seated, the waiter had given them the evil eye. Benji figured that Tony didn't want to cater to rag tag kids who looked like they had just been trampled by a herd of buffalo (Lux still had a nasty gash on her left cheek sewed shut with stitches that would bleed occasionally, the gash that she got from that one day they got separated, and he still had his bandana clad wrist that hurt like a bitch and a new black eye, this time his left one, courtesy of his pa in a fit of drunken anger.)  
  
The meal of spaghetti and meatballs and bread and water had been one of sad silence. Benji had been lost in his own depressing thoughts about the next day and whether or not he should commit suicide and Luxy just hadn't been talking like she normally did.  
  
Luxy. The name reverberated through Benji's mind, causing him to glance down at the girl. Her thin arm was linked tightly through his, her head bowed, sorrow-filled eyes staring at the ground. The slight zephyr tossed her long hair behind her, revealing her cheek.  
  
Benji shuddered. He was thankful that he was on her right side and not left. He didn't think he could bare to look at the awful stitches that held together the gash in her left cheek. The awful gash that had gushed blood onto his bare chest that day.  
  
That day.  
  
He never knew what happened that day when Luxy had run out of the theatre, and he wished with all his soul that he knew. Whatever happened to Luxy in those few hours that they were separated changed her profoundly. Why she had come into Tibby's babbling and hysterical, he would never know. But instead of being light-hearted and flirtatious and in her normal spirits, she had become reserved and quiet. Almost never speaking unless spoken too, where she half the time didn't answer or spoke in mysterious murmurs, Luxy Listin almost never left his side. It was if she wanted his protection. As if without him, an unknown beast was going to jump out and maul her to pieces. On the nights when Anthony Conlon was not at home beating his wife and son, Luxy would stay with Benji in his room, in his bed. Most of the nights when he wasn't worrying about his ever dawning thirteenth year, he would stay up, hands behind his head and create theories of why Lux would cry herself to sleep.  
  
Try as he might, he could not dream up a single damn thing.  
  
"Benji, do ya ever think that you would marry me?"  
  
Benji felt as though at that minute a pair of hands had twined themselves around his neck, cutting off all circulation. He stumbled on the sidewalk as all the thoughts of the factory were dashed from his mind. The cool, clear spring night suddenly became all too real as he turned his head to face Luxy.  
  
Her head was still bowed to the pavement.  
  
Perhaps he was just imagining things. His brain slowly started to become clouded with thoughts again.  
  
"I said, would you ever marry me?"  
  
This time, the jolt to reality was not as much of a dire shock. He turned to her, rearranging his expression of puzzlement. She was turned towards him this time, her blue eyes haunting against her pale skin (the stitches showing,) her fluttering black hair bringing the effect together.  
  
"Well.I." he stammered like an idiot, quickly turning his head forward, her blue eyes still emblazoned into his mind.  
  
What could he say? Christ, Luxy, you are one crazy bitch! I'm thirteen and you're twelve and I have to work in the fucking factory tomorrow do you really expect me to think about that shit now? I have always had the fantasy that I want to marry Julie because I have always been in love with her but then you look at me like you are now and I can't even look at you because I stammer like a fucking idiot and you look exactly like Julie except she doesn't have stitches. But I can't think about that I mean Gia the red-head and Maria the easy girl down the street just said to me that they have loved me forever and Maria wanted me to do her under The Sentinel.  
  
So, Benji turned back to Luxy who was still staring at him with her electric eyes and just smiled and ducked his head and said, "Yeah."  
  
Benji Conlon could have sworn on his mother's grave that after he uttered that singular word, he saw Lux's first smile since That Day; her grip on his arm link became tighter and her hand went to his, gently planting it on top of the bandana.  
  
Somehow, just having the reassuring notion of having his girl by his side in the future made the unknown experience of the factory easier and he decided that he would not commit suicide that night, like he had been planning-by tying the laundry cord that he had crawled over to Luxy's room so many times on around his neck and jumping out the window.  
  
* Chain-reactions. Benji knew what they were and plenty had happened to him (case in point: two summers ago Julie and Mr. and Mrs. Listin had been arguing over her courtship of David Something-or-Other. The arguing caused Luxy to become fed up and climb over the laundry cord to Benji's room, who allowed her to share his bed. In turn, his father came home from the pub, blasted. He found his son and an unknown girl innocently enough sharing a bed, which made him get out his cane and first knock Luxy over the head unconscious and then turn his attention to Benji so that he was blacked out for two days afterwards with a fantastic concussion.)  
  
So, sure, he knew what chain-reactions were.  
  
Yet lo, the chain-reaction that occurred on Benjamin Conlon's thirteenth birthday on April 2nd at 9:26 p.m. would forever be blazed into his mind for the rest of his years.  
  
It started when they were only a few blocks into the Italian district. Luxy heard the faint shouts first and nudged Benji in the side, whose lovely daydreams were shattered as he jumped at the touch. Next came both exchanging glances, looking up to the skyline and seeing the smoke (o, the billowing smoke,) and exchanging glances again. Benji was the first to take off, leaving Luxy to hobble behind him, before stopping to quickly slide off her heels.  
  
As he ran past the dark buildings and dim apartments, his shoes thudding on the pavement, the smoke became more visible, as did the first sign of the reflections of the yellow and orange in the sky. When he saw the reflections, he immediately stopped running, his heart pounding. Luxy joined him, eyes wide and hair wild, breathing heavily.  
  
"What is it?" she puffed. "Fire?"  
  
Benji ignored as her blue eyes stared at him; his eyes were on the vivid colors in the sky alone. He picked up his pace; Lux's cries to slow down being drowned from his ears as the shouts got more audible.  
  
His mind raced of insane thoughts and he prayed that if it was a fire it was not his apartment and if it was (God forbid) his mother was alive and healthy and his father had either been burnt to death already or had died of smoke suffocation.  
  
Benji rounded the sidewalk that drew him from Clinton Avenue to the street he resided on. As he did so, he halted. He could only hear the awful yells in thick Italian accents from the gawkers who littered the street and hung out windows looking at the spectacle, the spectacle of the deadly, hypnotizing flames that licked his apartment building, the clusters brightest in his apartment.  
  
Luxy joined him on the curb, panting wheezing. "Oh, Christ." Then the emotion came to her voice. "Oh, Christ! OH FUCKING CHRIST!"  
  
Benji felt himself being pushed roughly forward as she brushed past him, sobbing, her heels falling from her lax hand. Her figure got smaller and smaller as she neared the fire, all the way shrieking the same curse.  
  
Benji felt like he was frozen. He could only stare as the billows of dark gray smoke as they mixed with the ungodly brightness of the flames.  
  
Benny, I love you. I will always love you. You must know that. Your father, he used to be a wonderful man, but the alcohol got him. Oh, Benny, he used to be so kind and funny.  
  
Benji suddenly felt himself flying forward, pushing past the people who stood and watched, just stood and watched as the fire ate away his home.  
  
I remember one time, Benny, when you were little and your Daddy played horsey with you and he gave you a piggyback ride, do you remember, Benny?  
  
Benji pondered that he heard people shouting to him as he pushed his way past them and up the sidewalk to his apartment.  
  
We went on picnics together, Benny, do you remember darling? Remember the picnic to Central Park and you and your Daddy splashed in the lake and I sat on the bank and laughed?  
  
Benji retaliated with a bellow as he placed his hand on the knob to the apartments. Feeling a pair of strong arms grab him about the waste and try to pull him back, he thrashed and placed his hand on the fantastically hot knob, finally opening it and slamming the door behind him.  
  
Your Daddy didn't always beat us.he was nice. Do you remember Benny sweetie?  
  
Benji placed his hands in front of his face, protecting him from the scorching heat of the flames. He stood at the base of the flame covered stairwell, the stairwell that lead to the apartments.  
  
Remember, Benny darling, the time Daddy let you hold his pretty cane?  
  
A thunderous crash from somewhere up above made Benji jump as he took the steps two, three at a time, dodging the flames, praying that the stairwell did not crash. Remember, Benny, when Daddy put on the puppet show with his socks? Mr. Blinky and Mr. Stinky were their names!  
  
Coughing, sputtering, his eyes watery and scratchy, Benji miraculously made up the two flights of falling stairs to his apartment. Keeping low and with his hand over his mouth, he prayed to Jesus Christ that He would not let him die. Passing the Peppers' door, he finally espied his.  
  
Falling to his knees in a coughing fit, he drew a cross across his chest.  
  
Benny darling, remember when Daddy used to read you bed time stories, baby?  
  
Benjamin Conlon's world was now a messy dream. He only went through the motions as he somehow found his way through the smoldering door into his flame-engulfed apartment, crawling on his belly to escape being intoxicated by the smoke.  
  
His father's body he found first, sprawled in the bedroom, portions of the skin incinerated, his hands clamped around his neck, eyes open, mouth in a dreadful O, face twisted into an expression as that of one of immortal terror.  
  
Benji felt no emotion inside whatsoever as he stared down at his dead father, only emptiness as he went to the burnt box and saved the cane from the flames, sliding it in one of his belt loops.  
  
Yet it was when he saw his mother's cadaver in a heap on the kitchen, that a wave of emotion welled up inside of him so quick and so strong that he felt nausea.  
  
"OH GOD OH NO!" he sobbed, falling over the corpse, not caring if the smoke or fire snatched his life away. He wanted to be here, with his mother.  
  
"NO!" he hollered, weeping bitterly, the heat scorching him.  
  
"I DON'T CARE! I WANT TO DIE! TAKE ME TOO! TAKE ME TOO GODDAMN YOU!"  
  
And Benji fell against his mother, prepared to die.  
  
"BENJI!"  
  
The word rang in his head as clear as a crystal.  
  
"BENJI!"  
  
He somehow managed to raise his head, lightheaded and weak from the smoke inhalation.  
  
"BENJI! JESUS CHRIST, PLEASE, BENJI!"  
  
Nonetheless a miracle, he raised himself from his fallen mother and crawled his way through the torrid flames and suffocating smoke to his room. Delirious, he crawled to his window and outstretched his arm, praying for the laundry cord to still be there.  
  
It was.  
  
Grunting and wheezing, he pulled himself onto the window ledge and untied the cord. Holding onto one edge, he closed his eyes and jumped, the flames licking his skin.  
  
* "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."  
  
The fire had been in the Conlon's kitchen. Nora had been cooking dinner when Anthony had come home from the pub early, drunk. They had had an argument, where he had knocked his wife out, causing her to crash forcefully into the old stove, knocking it over and starting the fire.  
  
Benji stood, the bitter wind of the early spring day whipping his hair, his eyes set, unblinking, on the matching set of unmarked graves.  
  
"Anthony and Nora Conlon."  
  
Beside him, he heard Luxy stifle a sob into her handkerchief.  
  
"May they rest in peace."  
  
The pastor closed his Bible and backed away from the head of the graves, signaling the gravediggers to come and start to cover the shrouded bodies with soil.  
  
Luxy let out another sob, falling against Benji, who continued to stare at the graves, his right hand falling to the hilt of the cane.  
  
Anastacia, her face pale and green eyes filled with remorse approached Benji, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Your mother, she was a good woman."  
  
Benji nodded and straightened, feeling Lux sobbing beside him, he trying to hold back. He simply nodded.  
  
Anastacia returned the nod, and exited the churchyard, leaving Luxy and he the only members of the service for Anthony and Nora Conlon to remain.  
  
"Oh, Benji!" she sobbed, blowing her nose on the handkerchief.  
  
Without turning in her direction, Benji slowly slung his arm around her, pulling her close, her tangles of hair falling against his bare arm.  
  
Luxy stifled another sob. "Oh, Benji, I can't stand this. I'll be waiting at the gates," she said, breaking out of his hold.  
  
Benji now stood alone, the breeze ruffling his hair. Slowly, he made his way over to his mother's grave, willing with his entire soul not to burst out. He could only shake his head, tears welling in the creases of his eyes as he thought, "Mom, I love you why did you have to go this is so unfair!"  
  
He closed his eyes and dropped his head, opening them only to find that he was staring at his father's grave.  
  
A surge of infuriation surged through Benji and his mind flashed with a brilliant hellfire red. He straightened and his grip on the cane became tighter.  
  
"Look, you old fucker, look," he gritted. "I have your stupid fucking cane, not you. You weren't buried with it, you old bastard. Your death brought a lot of good things.I don't have to start work at the factory yet. I hope that you are in hell right now and will rot there for all eternity. Fuck you for making my life and Ma's life hell."  
  
He spat on his father's grave and then turned, shoulders back and gripping the cane so tightly now that his palm had become red, to join Luxy at the gates. 


	8. Chapter Seven

Note from Author: Yay! I am finally updating this. I just have too many ideas for this not too. I just realized, that this story will be incredibly long. Sigh. Just stick with me, now because I'm warning you that it will not have a shard of fluff in it in any way, shape, or form. Drama and angst rule here. Please read and review and enjoy..  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN  
  
"Lux, I KNOW it hurts.please stop grimacing like that. Lux, please, just bite down on the spoon, Lux.OWH! Damn you Luxy! Mama, I cannot do this! She tried to bite me! Honest to God the little brat tried to bite me! Well, those ugly stitches can adorn her face until she is dead and rotting and I wouldn't care!"  
  
An animal. An animal could describe what Luxy Listin felt parallel to on that blistering scorching Saturday morning which marked the first day of summer as she sat on a rickety stool that lurched to the right, knees spread, eyes squinted shut, body slick with perspiration, teeth clamped down hard on her mother's wooden spoon.  
  
At first, she fancied herself a horse. A horse that had just gotten over an injury and was getting the stitches removed. The spoon her mother gave her to bite down on for the pain was the bit, a bit, which Lynn kept jamming back further into her jaw so much that it first caused a dull aching sensation which was now throbbing pangs of agony.  
  
She knew the stitches had to come out. The stitches closed the atrocious gash that had been a souvenir of her encounter with Mr. Antonelli. When Benji had brought her home that day, Nathalie Listin had turned milky white, clasped a hand to her chest, and hovered over her child, spitting out frantic French as she ran her hand over Luxy's gash, blood staining her once fair hands.  
  
Luxy had remained in a motionless, rarely blinking stupor even through the twilight when all her family gathered. Tony Listin had gone off, bellowing deep oaths in his native tongue. Nathalie Listin had battled him in the sharp pitter-patter of her language. Her siblings had stood motionless, silent, worried over their sister who had remained slumped on some old cushions and wrapped in a moth-eaten blanket, her eyes glassy and with dried blood clinging to her face.  
  
The conclusion reached between the majority was that that "goddamn Conlon boy next door" had done it to her. Her father told her that it served her right for hanging out with him like a little slut and that he was bound to turn in to a wife beater like his daddy. Her mother flitted about, nodding her head and agreeing readily. That Luxy had behaved like a boy all her life too much and that it wasn't proper for a lady of such caliber to be hanging about the likes of such riff raff.  
  
Though those around her were oblivious to it, Luxy's mind had been quite intact that night. True, she had been quite mad and delirious after being violated and threatened by the tenant above her, but she almost had to bite her tongue and restrain herself with all her soul from bursting out and calling her parents insane, her father a bastard, and her mother a prissy bitch.  
  
What an audacious thought to think that Benji had given her the gash. True, he had given her the fantastic bruise on her right cheek, but she was the only thing on earth, save his mother, that he loved. Incredulous notions to think that Benji would inherit his father's ruthless habits towards women, a man who he loathed. But behaving un-lady like? She, a lady of caliber and Benji riff raff?  
  
At this moment, Nathalie Listin was now occupying the space that Lynn had earlier. Taking Luxy's chin in her right hand, she sharply jerked it towards her, infuriating Luxy so that she had to sit on her hands so that they did not strike her mother across the face. If Benji was riff raff, then the Listins were riff raff. It was quite insane that her mother think herself still a lady of high caliber. Just because she was in denial that her childhood in France was a pompous one of dapple-gray ponies and parties and that she had married Tony Listin and now worked in an atrocious sweatshop and lived in a rat infested apartment and had to slave to her entire family didn't mean that she could dictate social hierarchy over others.  
  
Luxy shifted her head every so slightly to see that her mother's sharp blue eyes were fixated on the stitches. Her eyebrows raised and her gaze moved to Luxy. "Keep your head straight," her strict accent rang, as she snapped her daughter's head straight.  
  
A heated anger started to form in Luxy's chest, a heat that was not due to the smoldering apartment.  
  
With a sharp pin and her grasp on Luxy's chin tightening, Nathalie slid it under the first stitch and quickly pulled it out.  
  
"OWH!"  
  
Luxy's ear-splitting scream shattered the heat as she sprang off the stool and to her feet, the spoon clattering to the floor. The bitter tears formed in the creases of her eyes as she drew her hand to her cheek.  
  
"Luxy," her mother commanded. "Sit."  
  
She shook her head, backing away. "No, I can't. It hurts too much!"  
  
Nathalie Listin's eyes were filled with disgust and contempt as she bent down and retrieved the wooden spoon from the splintered floor. "Lux Listin," she said, her voice sharp as a razor, "if you don't sit down you'll have another set of stitches on the other side of your face from me striking the spoon against you."  
  
Luxy regarded her mother with bitter, almost childish tears welling in her eyes. "Mama, no it hurts!"  
  
Nathalie's pale blue eyes never lost an iota of their coldness as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Luxy, now."  
  
Luxy's gaze flickered to Lynn and then to her mother. They both stood the same way save Lynn's repulsion was open. "MAMA I CAN'T!" she screamed, slamming her foot against the ground, causing the floorboards to shutter and dust to arise.  
  
Nathalie elicited an audible cry of disgust. "Oh GOD DAMN YOU! Juste comme votre fichu père! Un fichu gosse!" With a flick of the wrist, the hard spoon had connected with Luxy's other cheek, causing the skin to rupture and turn purple immediately, as she burst into hysterical sobs.  
  
With a sharp motion, Nathalie had pushed Luxy onto the stool. "Lynn, hold her arms."  
  
Lynn rolled her eyes and reluctantly stood behind Luxy, binding her wrists together in a pleasing grip of iron. Nathalie had abruptly raised one foot and had removed her shoe, letting it clatter to the floor, as she only needed a sock. She thrust the sweaty, disgusting garment into Luxy's mouth, causing the latter to launch into a severe gagging spell.  
  
Nathalie ignored as Luxy went in to convulsions, only pressing her legs tight against her daughter's so they would not flail about. "Hold her tight," she said frigidly, Lynn nodding, as she began the task of plucking the stitches out, one by horrifying one.  
  
If there was such thing as Hell, then Luxy was there. The taste of the unwelcome garment saturated into her mouth leaving an absolutely disgusting aftertaste and the agonizing, excruciating pain of the homemade stitches was impossible to bear. She only saved herself from fainting by steadily focusing on Benji's ratty, makeshift bed that lay on the other side of the kitchen.  
  
She did not know how long she sat on that stool in that uncompromising position, the scorching sun boring down on her when she finally felt the sock being plucked from her mouth and the grip on her wrists fall lax.  
  
"There," Nathalie Listin said condescendingly and stepping back, as though admiring her work, "it wasn't that bad, now was it? You just have to go and make a speck of rain a thunder storm."  
  
"I absolutely agree," Lynn snarled, crossing her arms. "You whine and snivel over nothing, Luxy--"  
  
Her words were cut short as Luxy spat in her face in abhorrence. She stepped back, her features twisted into revilement. "You-you little whore!" she screamed, her gaze insane. "Mama, look what she did!"  
  
Luxy's eyes were narrowed in hatred as she rose from the stool, causing it to clatter to the floor. "Me the whore? Julie was the whore and ever since she ran away you've jist wanted to take her place: the bitch of the family!" Lynn's eyes widened as she brought a hand to her mouth in an exaggerated gasp. "You-you-you-you. Mama, look what she's saying! How can you let her say that? How can you?" Charlatan tears were streaming down her cheeks.  
  
Luxy averted her gaze to her mother, who only stood, her hawk-like features slick with perspiration. "Show your sister some respect," she stated frostily.  
  
Luxy narrowed her eyes. "Why should I, Mama? She don't show me no respect-- "  
  
Nathalie interrupted her. "Because I am your mother and by offending your sister you offend me. Your attitude is disgusting. You should be on your hands and knees thanking me for winning over your father by allowing that, that heathen to stay here--"  
  
"HE IS NOT A HEATHEN!" Luxy screamed in a voice as sharp as glass, causing the heat to waver.  
  
Nathalie raised a brow, her eyes still bitterly biting. "I may and will call him whatever I like while he is staying under this roof--"  
  
Luxy's gaze was absolutely burning. "Go to hell. Go to hell both of you!" she shouted hoarsely before she spun abruptly about face and picked up her heels, thrusting herself through the door and down the moaning steps of the ancient tenement building.  
  
She halted only once she was outside on the walk, where she was forced to bend over and place her palms on her thighs. The heat covered everything like a shroud. It was perhaps even worse that last summer.  
  
Once she regained her breath, she straightened, her body coated in a layer of perspiration, as she strode on, her mother's sharp cries floating out the open window and following after her. Yet, she ignored them, gathering her long strands of raven hair upon her head. She did the only thing she knew possible to keep it off her neck: she messily divided the hair and tied it like a bow upon her pate.  
  
Luxy only glanced over her shoulder at the burned out shell of the apartment building neighbor to hers. Waves of sadness and sympathy washed over her as her eyes fell to the old room on the third floor and to the left, the one that was left scarred the most by the inferno. She wondered if Benji was in there. He seemed to go there a lot, like he was trapped in a cocoon of memories that he could just not let go. He sometimes skipped going to the factory and would sit there all day, amongst the heap of black ashes, in the corner, a blank, depressed look etched upon his features. The only problem with this was the factory docked what little pay they offered for the days he missed.  
  
Abruptly, her gaze shifted from the Conlon's former apartment to the room above the Listin apartment.  
  
A marvelous chill worked its way down Luxy's spine, taking its time. It was Mr. Antonelli's apartment. She had almost forgotten about him. Almost forgotten the hideous depths of his black stare. Almost forgotten their encounter and his chilling threat.  
  
Immediately, the picked up her place. Although she never saw his physical being, she seemed to see his terrifying eyes everywhere; they haunted her dreams constantly.  
  
The Italian district was amazingly alive that day, despite the sweltering rushes of heat. Children dashed about the streets and sidewalks, playing miscellaneous games, the hub of all the excitement being The Park. There were fewer adult men to be seen for the majority of them were slaving away in the factory. The woman were more numerous, for some stood on the stoops of the tenement houses exchanging the latest gossip or just were hanging out the laundry.  
  
Luxy allowed her feet to carry her through the waves of humidity and the children's shrieks and the murmurs laced with Italian. Soon, she was stripping layers of her clothing off. Nathalie had wanted her to accept the fact that she was maturing into a woman and had tempted her into wearing an incredibly tattered, hand me down pink dress that used to be Julie's. The dress was soon behind her, in a heap on the sidewalk, as she strode on, wearing just underpants and a undershirt as the majority of the children did on breathless summer days.  
  
She knew her mother would have a fit if she saw Luxy walking about with out any outer-garments on. She had been trying futilely to get Luxy to wear a brassiere for her ever-developing body. Yet, she didn't give a damn if she developed knockers as large as Mrs. Pepper's had been. She silently promised herself that she would never mature.  
  
It may have been on part of the smoldering heat or the fact that Luxy Listin just didn't desire to think about her horrid family life, Benji's strife, or her own ordeal with Mr. Antonelli, for she allowed her gaze to wander about and her feet to carry her in a state of oblivion. It was only when she forcefully slammed into a pedestrian that she was reeled back to reality, and after she murmured a reply, she took in the humidity and the scalding sidewalk and the unfamiliar buildings glaring in the sunlight.  
  
"Oh, shit," she mumbled under her breath, whirling about in slow circles, her eyes scanning the surroundings. "This ain't the Italian district no more."  
  
She had become drunk by the heat, yet she felt no true trepidation like she had before. This time she knew where Benji was located-he was in the factory.  
  
Luxy instead crossed the street, taking in the atmosphere and feeling something that she could not quite pinpoint. It was a severe case of deja- vous, as though she had been here before-  
  
And then it occurred to her as though it were a revelation.  
  
"I knew I've been here before," she said, as she peered about, the last piece falling into place. Her eyes widened and she broke out into a run.  
  
Luxy stopped only when she saw the building, the ancient red bricks weary in the bright light. She broke into a broad smile as she dashed to the entrance, tugging on the handle, and pushing the door open.  
  
The overpowering scent of lavender invaded her nostrils, slowly seeping into her brain and causing her to feel drowsy. She entered the threshold, padding across a soft plush carpet, her eyes peering to a set of winding stairs. The internals of the building seemed somehow isolated from the ungodly humidity that reigned outside, despite the intoxicating, heavy scent.  
  
Her gaze wandered about, taking in the ostentatious décor and she was about to pad up the maroon-carpeted stairs when a melodic French accent filled her ears. "Excuse, me, zittle goil. But where do you zink zat you are going?"  
  
Luxy averted her eyes to view a beautiful woman entering through a doorway. In Luxy Listin's eyes she was tall and grand, dressed in a rippling blue and cream colored dress. Her ebony hair was piled on her crown and her features were accented by heavy cosmetics. And she possessed such a beautiful voice, a voice as sharp and clear as a bell, not like her mother's rough accent.  
  
Luxy regarded the woman, an eyebrow raised as she involuntarily pointed to the stairs. "Uh, I was here before--"  
  
The woman crossed her arms over her ample chest. "You whir here before?" she intoned, her pale blue eyes glimmering.  
  
"No, not as a customer--" Luxy halted as the woman loosened her arms and released a tinkling laugh. "What's so funny?"  
  
"Oh, nuhzing," the woman replied, her lips pulled back in a smile. "It'z just what you said, it sounded funny."  
  
"Oh," Luxy replied, somewhat unsure of herself.  
  
The woman crossed the room, her eyes alight and her dimples prominent. She stopped in front of Luxy and bent down. Luxy was taken aback by the woman's large bosom yet quickly averted her eyes to the woman's.  
  
"What iz your name?"  
  
"Luxy?"  
  
"Well, Luxy," the woman replied, straightening, "Arh you here to see someone?"  
  
Luxy nodded. "Yeah. Rose."  
  
The French woman stepped back, placing her index finger to her temple. "AH! You are joost in luck for Rose is in right now. You can go up and see her."  
  
Luxy turned and proceeded to the stairs, placing a leg on one before she glanced over her shoulder to see the marvelous woman swishing out of the room, her dress ruffling behind her. She once again turned and continued up the stairs, reaching the second floor, the scent even more oppressing, causing dreamy swirls to circulate through her mind as slumber hung heavily upon her eyelids. She took her chances by turning left and strolling down a dim hallway, her weight creaking upon the floorboards and the sounds of moans and slight screams and springs being murdered. She reached the end of the hall and espied a door that was covered in a layer of pale purple paint. She halted in front of the door, inhaling, and softly wrapped upon it. She waited for an answer, and one was granted to her as a hoarse female voice replied, "Yeah, jist a minute."  
  
Luxy stood waiting, a good five minutes, shifting her weight from foot to foot and cocking her head from side to side and glancing about the hallway. She drew her attention to the door when a click was finally heard and the door was cracked open.  
  
A rather tall man in tails had his hand poised on the knob, and his gaze fixated inside the room. His face was slick with perspiration and red and a pleased grin played upon his lips. "Hey, thanks a lot, Rose."  
  
"Anytime, Will," Rose Danson's hurried voice came from inside the room.  
  
He nodded into the room and turned, almost jumping as he saw Luxy. Yet, he smiled down at her, some how a disgusting smile as though he were a crooked character. His dark eyes bore into hers as he nodded at her. "All yours, kid."  
  
Luxy snapped her head down the hallway to watch the man as he swung his arms and his cane and as he erupted into whistling a tune. He disappeared, and she raised an untrusting brow, quietly pushing open the door and entering the room, closing it behind her.  
  
Rose Danson was sitting at her vanity, looking into the mirror, and it was as though she put on her clothing in a rush. Her eyes fell to Luxy as she regarded her from the mirror. "Oh, hey, kid," she said, twisting open a container of violent red lipstick, placing a coat on her lips.  
  
"Hi, Rose," Luxy said, padding across the room, the wonderful carpeting licking her soles as she took a seat on the bed, one leg bent and the other aimlessly dangling over the edge, still unable to shake the uncomfortable vibe the man had given her. "Who was that man?"  
  
Rose smacked her vermilion lips together as she cocked a brow and turned around in the seat, regarding Luxy. "That? That kid was William Morrison. But enough about my life. Why you here?"  
  
Luxy released an exuberant sigh and raised her arms to the air, falling back against the voluptuous bedding. "My life has gone to shit."  
  
Rose clucked her tongue as she rose from the vanity and crossed the room to the bed, sitting and joining Luxy. "Your ma let you get away saying things like that?"  
  
Luxy rolled her eyes, digging her fingers into the wonderful sheets. "My mother doesn't give a damn about me. She thinks my 'attitude is disgusting,'" she spat, even doing a horrid impersonation of her mother's accent.  
  
Rose elicited a laugh, allowing her fingers to quickly run along Luxy's arm. "Jesus, kid, you sure are tan."  
  
Luxy snorted. "It's what you get for being Italian."  
  
Rose sat back, pondering Luxy's words with a faint smile. "Still running around without no cloths on?"  
  
Luxy arose sharply to a sitting position her hair coming undone and fluttering down her back. "How d'ya expect someone to wear clothing when its three hundred degrees out?"  
  
Rose raised a perfectly arched brow. "Is it that hot out, kid?"  
  
Luxy avidly shook her head. "Yeah. And I'se about to cut my hair off, too!"  
  
Rose released a slight chortle. "I can braid your hair of ya want, kid."  
  
Luxy nodded. "Yeah, sure."  
  
The bed fluxed under the scarlet woman's weight, and soon her fingers were combing through Luxy's tangles of hair, working feverishly to create a plat. She broke the silence and Luxy was jilted back to the presence, as the aroma of lavender was creeping into her brain, causing her to wish she could fall asleep on the wonderful bed.  
  
"You ever find that Benji fellow?"  
  
It was then as though the glorious scent and the colors were banished and dull replicas took their place. Luxy sat back, a frown upon her lips, as Rose's fingers worked her hair. "Yes," she said after an epoch of silence. "I did."  
  
"Ah, that's good kid," Rose said cheerfully, finishing the plat and throwing it over Luxy's shoulder. Yet, the latter slowly shook her head, turning over her shoulder to look at Rose.  
  
"No, its not. His-his parents died in a fire on his birthday."  
  
Rose's smile fell.  
  
Luxy turned about-face and sat crossed-leg, regarding the woman with large eyes. "Yeah. It-it was awful. His daddy always used to beat him, but his ma, his ma was great to him. He was gonna have to start work in the factory the next day, but cause of his parent's deaths he got to start two weeks later. I-I'se so worried about him. Ya see, he was gonna have to go to live in the orphanage, but I begged Mama to let him stay. She hated him but somehow she won over Pa and he lives with us-but its jist in this little ratty blanket in the corner of the kitchen. Pa hates him and won't let him eat any of out food-but most of the time he can't even afford food because he skips work all the time-I mean, I'se found him countless times in his old apartment and he jist sits in a corner with all the ashes with his knees to his face and he don't respond to anything I say. He, he's like a volcano, ya know? Like on the outside he look horrible and scruffy but he really don't snow no emotions-its like they all inside him and one day they are jist gonna git loose and I don't know what the hell will happen to him-- "  
  
There was a heavy quietness in the air as Rose ruptured it by asking, "He ya boyfriend?"  
  
Luxy absentmindedly shook her head, her hands going to the braid. "Nah, he's jist me best friend. The only person I love in the whole world. I miss jist goofing off with him and everything, ya know?" She released a great sigh, her shoulders falling round. "I asked him if he would marry me and he said yes. I mean, its not one of those deals like in fairy tales where they are in love with each other. I mean, we love each other but we ain't in love with each other, ya know? I guess I jist need the support. My, my birthday is tomorrow. Me and Benji, we always had this saying that "birthdays are bad luck," and I don't know--"  
  
"How old ya gonna be, kid?" Rose asked softly.  
  
Luxy averted her eyes to the bedding, her fingers rapidly twisting about the plat. "Thirteen, but its jist not that, its that I have to go work in the factory with Mama and then that's the end of me life." Yet, she could not hold back the tears as they fell freely from her eyes. "I, I'se not ready to grow up yet. I want to stay a kid. Me and Benji to be kids forever, that's all I want."  
  
She fell against Rose, who placed a comforting arm around her. "I don't want to work in the factory-I'd rather work in the Red Bull."  
  
Suddenly, Rose's arm left Luxy as she ferociously propped her up. Her eyes glimmered with a vengeance. "No you listen to me, Luxy. Never, ever say that. You don't want to end up like me, a prostitute. I mean, I have a little girl, Ruby, the same age as you. I want to see her grow up, but I made wrong choices when I was young and now I have to work here, allowing men into my bed, any man who can pay. You think I want her to know what I'm doing? You think I like what I do?" Her grip fell lax. "No, Luxy. You don't want to become a whore. It's the worst profession there is. I cried my first time and I have to keep myself from crying every time."  
  
She released Luxy and fell back, as Luxy regarded her through tear-stained vision. "Me sister Meg was killed in the factory and all of me sister and mother have been raped. I don't want that to happen to me."  
  
"Ah, kid," Rose said as lightly as she could, returning her grasp around Luxy. "Sometimes we're faced with tough situations, situations that we would rather kill ourselves than face, but, hell, its life. You have to face them. And if you try, you will."  
  
Luxy fell against Rose and the soft material of her satin dress as she pondered this. Suddenly, an ungodly dark thought unbridled its self and was running rampant through her mind. "Rose, what's a child mole easter?"  
  
She felt Rose go stiff under her. "What?" she said in a razor voice.  
  
Luxy raised herself up, looking into her dark gaze. She shrugged and stammered. "I-I don't know. It's jist a word that Pa used--"  
  
Yet, Rose would not be deterred. She placed her hands firmly on either side of Luxy's olive shoulders. "Kid, did something happen?"  
  
Luxy bowed her head and closed her eyes, Mr. Antonelli's dark, haunting eyes ever so vivid. She opened them with a gasp.  
  
Rose roughly shook her. "Kid, what in the hell happened?"  
  
Luxy regarded her, tears stinging her creases and her mouth opening and closing like some sort of fish. "I-I-nothing."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
She cast her eyes away for she suddenly felt absolutely dirty and filthy. "What if-what if something bad happened--"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I CAN'T SAY!" Luxy's voice was shrill and strained with tears. Mr. Antonelli's atrocious voice reverberated through her mind.  
  
You. You, little girlie, you won't tell nobody about this, you hear. You hear! Because, because if you do, if you tell anybody, I will kill your family. You hear that? I live above you and will know if you tell and then I will kill your family!  
  
"Luxy what the hell happened?" Rose shook her roughly once more, her voice hard and filled with worry.  
  
Luxy allowed herself to be tossed about, the tears streaming down her sunburnt flesh. "I can't! I wanted to tell Benji but I can't! He will hear and he will do something bad!"  
  
Rose viewed her with sympathetic frustration. "Oh, kid, something serious happened and I know it-I know it but you won't tell me."  
  
Luxy nodded her head.  
  
Rose exhaled and collapsed. "If you won't tell me then tell Benji, won't ya kid?"  
  
Luxy reluctantly nodded her head once more through the convulsions. Rose shook her head, causing her hellfire red spirals to spring about, as she pulled a handkerchief from the bosom of her dress with a fluid motion. "Here, kid. Take this."  
  
Luxy received it and placed it to her nose, blowing quite hard and producing an audible noise, just as a loud knock was heard on the door.  
  
Rose raised her gaze to the lavender door. "Oh, shit," she said under her breath, her frantic gaze falling to Luxy. "Look, kid, I know that this is some serious stuff and I really don't want to rush ya or nothing but I got a customer."  
  
Luxy blew her nose once more. "It's okay. I understand." She held the handkerchief out to Rose, who only shook her head and raised her hands. "You keep it."  
  
In a flourish, Rose was ushering Luxy out the door, her raven hair wild and falling from the plat and her eyes red. Rose welcomed the customer, a nervous in demeanor man, as she pushed him into the bedroom as Luxy exited into the hallway, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.  
  
"Look, kid," Rose said solemnly, poking her head out of the door. "If ya won't tell me ya gotta tell somebody, ya gotta."  
  
Luxy laggardly nodded her head.  
  
Rose forced a slight smile. "Look kid, tell someone. And come back soon, won't ya?"  
  
Luxy only absentmindedly nodded once more and turned away, holding the handkerchief to her visage as she heard Rose elicit a mournful sigh behind her and as the door softly clicked.  
  
She ran a hand against her nose once more, as she shuffled down the glossy hallway, the slight groans and sounds of beds connecting with walls seeping into her ear canals.  
  
Tell Benji. Tell Benji. Why not tell Benji tomorrow? After all, birthdays are bad luck, aren't they? 


	9. Chapter Eight

Note from Author: Updating again.please review cause it makes me write more! I guess to got very wrapped up and I use very ::cough:: passionate language. In other words, strong language-very strong language. So anyhow, please read, review, and enjoy..  
  
  
  
  
  
CHAPTER EIGHT  
  
The stairs were still, the shadows of the night playing upon the crevices, causing the atmosphere to be eerie, haunting, unnerving  
  
Luxy Listin ascended the stairs, the charred boards creaking under her weight as though they were being murdered. Her breathing shallow, she allowed her eyes to flicker about, taking in the incinerated walls singed to ashes, a grisly reminder of the early spring fire.  
  
Since the days following the blaze, nearly half the tenement house had been utterly destroyed. Roofs had caved and stairwells had collapsed. Those remaining feared the ever-present notion of perhaps the floor falling from beneath them, too weak to supports itself. They knew of how atrociously poor in quality that the apartments had been constructed, yet they were far too deeply scarred with poverty to find residence anyplace else. So they would wait, breath bated, any settling creak propelling them into near hysterics.  
  
Luxy released her caged breath as she set foot on the third floor landing. God had indeed been with her in the quick Lord's Prayers that had rushed through her psyche rampantly during the climb. He hadn't allowed the stairs to collapse.  
  
The burnt hallway was silent and still, the pungent smell of the night's humidity and the odor of the pyre invading her nostrils, causing her to elicit a sneeze, ash particles arising and swirling about.  
  
Wiping her nose with the back of her hand, she continued down the decrepit corridor, taking slow almost deliberately careful steps, the creaking floorboards sounding tenfold in her ears.  
  
She passed warped doors, or what was left of them, and the empty apartments they guarded. She passed the Pepper's. The Peppers had gotten out of the fire before the licking demon flames had taken their lives. Alas, Mr. Pepper had had a bad heart and the inhalation of the thick smoke took its toll on him. He perished on the road outside as the fire ravaged the tenement building.  
  
The Peppers were soon all but a whisper of a memory as Luxy halted, bringing her hand to the surface of the door she beheld. She traced her fingers along the fragments that remained, and under the soft weight of her touch, they crumbled, falling in blackened particles to her feet. She need not even open the door, for she only had to contort slightly to fit through the splinters of charred wood that remained.  
  
As Luxy passed through the threshold, she straightened and allowed her vision to adjust to the dark atmosphere. Her lips parted slightly and she drew in a gasp, for the few times she had been in there since the blaze, it never ceased to leave her breathless.  
  
Even though the room was nothing more than a blackened pit with piles of ashes all about and gaping holes parched into the floorboards, all the memories still remained outstandingly vivid and candid, as though they had occurred only yesterday. Remembrances of Anthony Conlon maddeningly and insanely swinging the cane above his head, Nora Conlon's cries rupturing the air, Benji's voice full of mortal fear and the sick crack as the cane collected with his skull and as he fell to the floor in an unconscious heap, and the absolutely wild gaze Conlon would don before he would approach Luxy herself on those few times filled her mind.  
  
She proceeded forward, sidestepping a hole in the boards, an involuntary tear slithering down her cheek. She inhaled, running a hand through her tangles of hair. Her eyes darted over the room. He wasn't in this room, yet she knew where he would be.  
  
Keeping her stride light and carefully keeping an eye out for chasms in the floorboards, Luxy made her way to the kitchen. Yet, as she crossed through the doorway, she tripped upon an over-turned board, causing her to fly headfirst in the room and billows of ashes to rise. She regained her balance sloppily, only to break into a tremendous coughing fit. She doubled over, her ebony hair falling in front of her face, as she closed her eyes tight, bringing one hand to her mouth as the other waved the thick smoke away.  
  
When she had finally regained her breath, she stood, her flesh and clothing covered in a light coat of charcoal ash. She brought her hands to her eyes, furiously brushing away the soot, clearing her vision. Alas, part of her wished desperately that the ash remains could still be tainting her eyesight for what she espied caused her heart to shatter into two.  
  
Benji was slumped on the floor at the intersection of two burnt, crumbling walls, only a few feet away from where his mother had taken her last breath before the smoke devoured her. He sat, his knees raised and his arms resting listlessly upon them. His head was resting against the corner, his gaze cocked away from Luxy, his dull eyes not blinking. He looked haggard, and somehow eroded as though he had aged tremendously and time was taking its toll on him. A bottle of whisky sat companion at the tip of his foot, glitter-shot in the moonlight that fell through the open, spider web-laced windows.  
  
She had found him like this times before, but never with an expression this severe, this hopelessly forlorn-and never, ever before with alcohol.  
  
Luxy released a sigh and proceeded quietly over to him, taking heed of the weakened floor, until she stood directly in front of him. He still did not regard her, his unblinking eyes trained to the wall.  
  
"Benji," she said quietly, subtly clearing her throat, trying to piece together the correct words to say. "You weren't at the factory again today."  
  
He simply remained still, his eyes frozen.  
  
She cocked her head, the ball of her scoffed shoes rubbing into the scorched floorboards. "Benji," she said, raising her voice in pitch. "You weren't at--"  
  
"Fuck the factory." His voice was low, cold, and hard. He had finally averted his head and his gaze was locked on hers, his fire green eyes dark.  
  
Luxy cocked her head and her lips parted, as she fixated her knuckled hands on her hips, her smart-ass nature quickly catching up with her. "Ya know, Benji, you can say fuck the factory all you want but if you keep coming up here then how in the hell are you gonna support yourself?"  
  
Benji regarded her, his lips pulled back into a slight snarl and his eyes insolent. "Ya know, Lux, ya starting to sound like my mother."  
  
Luxy's mouth twisted and her eyes narrowed and the words rolled from her tongue before she had actually reviewed them intently. "No, Benji, I'se jist being your friend. You're mother's dead."  
  
The words hung horribly in the air between them, as they both shared in the same expression. Luxy stepped back, stunned at what she had uttered. Benji gazed up at her, his jaw partially dropped and his eyes wide, stunned at her audacity.  
  
"Benji," she said quickly, bringing a hand to her mouth, feeling herself turn white. "Benji-I'se sorry-I didn't mean it--"  
  
Luxy gazed at him, almost fearful at what his reaction would be. Benji regarded her in disbelief for a few more moments before his expression transformed. He brought his lips together in a scowl and his eyes narrowed. He slid his bent leg out in front of him, causing the alcohol bottle to tip on its side in a clatter.  
  
Luxy slightly jumped and released a gasp, her eyes falling to the bottle as the remainder of the contents were drained from it, saturating the antediluvian floorboards. She shifted her vision once more to Benji. He was bringing himself slowly to his feet, his hands falling to the hilt of the cane that was slid through one of his belt loops.  
  
He began advancing excruciatingly slowly towards her, and she took every step backwards for every one he took forward. Her eyes could only remain trained to his, as a series of unbearably cold and ruthless shudders worked their way down her spine.  
  
Benji had that drunken, maddening glint in his eye, and with that cane in his grasp, he resembled Anthony Conlon too close for comfort.  
  
"Benji," Luxy said in stammering voice, saying each word slowly so that he would perhaps understand. "I'se sorry-I had no right so say that. I didn't mean it--" She halted when she saw that he had brandished the cane. Her gaze fell back to his as she continued to move back. "Benji. I didn't mean it! Benji, listen to me! I didn't mean it-I'se sorry!"  
  
As Luxy took another step backwards, she abruptly released a scream. Her right foot had fallen through one of the holes in the floorboards, lodging her leg between the rough shards of wood.  
  
She ignored Benji for a moment, placing her hands tightly around her thigh and trying futilely to pull herself out. The wood creaked and nothing more. Still tugging and pulling, Luxy raised her eyes and what she saw caused her breath to bate in her throat and all her actions to halt.  
  
Benji was standing above her, the cane raised in his grasp. Yet, it was not Benji. It was Anthony Conlon.  
  
Luxy released a sob and tried in a state of passionate desperation to free her leg, but the damn boards were just not giving way. "COME ON!" she shrieked.  
  
Her vision flickered from her trapped leg to Benji, who had the cane raised above his head and was bringing it down, a wild look in his eyes.  
  
"NO, BENJI, DON'T!" she screamed, her eyes suddenly shutting, and her life miraculously flashing before her eyes, a feat which she had only read about in the few novels that she had dilly-dallied over.  
  
Luxy waited, her eyes squeezed together so tightly that a powerful pounding sensation had begun in between her eyes, waiting for the cane to connect with her skull. Yet, all she heard was a clean clatter.  
  
Releasing her breath with a gasp, she allowed her eyes to flutter open as she raised her head. Through the wisps of wild raven hair that had fallen in front of her face, she could see that Benji had dropped the cane and was standing hunched, his palms to his forehead and his shoulder blades shaking violently.  
  
With a mighty heave, Luxy grasped around her upper leg and pulled, causing the singed wood to shutter and break. She awkwardly pushed herself to her feet, stumbling before regaining her balance.  
  
She stood regarding Benji, frozen, as convulsions over took him. He finally lowered his hands, and stared at her with his jade eyes red and glimmering from tears. His gaze flickered from her to the cane and back to her, before he erupted into another spasm and lunged at Luxy. He gripped either side of her shirt at the torso as he bent, pressing his crown into her chest, his tears staining her clothing.  
  
"I miss her so bad. I miss her so bad." His voice was broken through the howls.  
  
Luxy stood erect, leaning back on her heels and letting her head fall back, Benji's grip causing her to vibrate somewhat back and forth. "Oh, God, Jesus, no," she said softly, trying to keep her composure, yet she felt the awful lump manifest itself in her throat and the sharp tears begin to prick the creases of her eyes. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it," he ululated, breaking down more, his arms growing loose as he stretched the material of her shirt.  
  
She lowered her head, slowly resting her intertwined fingers on the back of his head, his hair slick with filth under her touch. "I know ya didn't," she said, struggling to keep her voice. "Benj, I know ya didn't. It's that goddamn alcohol. The alcohol."  
  
Benji released her and stepped back, his eyes bloodshot and glassy, as he absentmindedly cupped a hand around his mouth before running it through his hair. "The alcohol. The alcohol. Christ, I'm turning into my old man."  
  
Luxy quickly covered the distance between them, reaching up and harshly grabbing his chin between her hand. She had to strain due to his newfound loftiness that was the product of a spurt. "Benji, you're not turning into your father. Don't ever say you're turning into your father."  
  
Benji looked down at her, before he roughly pulled away. "Yeah, but it's the alcohol. The alcohol. It was the fucking alcohol that made my pa beat us with his cane. So what the hell do you call what jist happened?"  
  
Luxy stepped back, her eyes trying to read past the spiteful challenge in his brought on by the hurt. "Benji, your father was an alcoholic. You can jist quit."  
  
He stopped his quick pacing, looked at her, his eyes flashing, and strands of his hair falling in his face. "How can I quit?" he inquired in a strained, cracked voice, as he rapidly approached her, his hands raising above his head. "Why should I quit? When I'se drunk it blinds me from my goddamn life and from that goddamn factory. I can't survive unless I'm sober!"  
  
Luxy stared up at him, her breathing labored and his expression wild. "Yeah and how the hell would you know anything about the factory? You'se up here all the time."  
  
Benji released a high, forced laugh and stepped back. "What the fuck, Lux? You have no clue what kind of shit I'se gone through. You try finding your mother's dead goddamn body then almost being kicked out on the streets and then working in that goddamn factory where most of the time they think of ya as fresh meat and try to get ya in some dark corner so you can get down on ya knees and--"  
  
"Jesus Christ, Benji, you act as though you are the only one goin' through anything!" she suddenly shrieked, causing him to halt. "I don't know if you are jist too damn drunk to realize it or not but to day is my birthday. Well, Happy fucking Birthday to me." She elicited a sigh of exasperation and began to walk sharply about, her features twisted into passion. "And what does that mean? Oh, well, jiminy, Benji, I guess that means that tomorrow I'se gonna be working in some goddamn sweatshop with me mother and sisters and I'se probably gonna git raped. I'se so sorry if you're the only one who thinks that Jesus hasn't saved you from having a shit life, but goddamn, Benji Conlon, I think I just may be beside you in the all time worst goddamn life ever!" On the last line she released a marvelous scream, shattering the night and clumsily removed one of her weather-beaten shoes, sending hit hurling through the air, Benji ducking, where it collided into a wall, causing it so splinter and ash to arise.  
  
As she dust settled, the ardor suddenly drained from Luxy and she stood weak and wavering, her blue eyes locked on Benji's. "Christ," she said in a soft voice infected with tears. "We'se only kids. It's summer. We should be laying in The Park under the Sentinel, not worrying about stuff like--" She could not finish for she broken down into tears. Benji crossed the blazed floorboards, and soon his arms were about her torso as he held her tight.  
  
"Benji, what happened?" she asked, the bridge of her nose pressed into his chest.  
  
Benji could only shake his head. "We grew up."  
  
They stood there, intertwined about each other, either one's only mortal support, afraid that if they were to let go they would crack and shatter to a million shards.  
  
Luxy had finally bridled her emotions and she stood, drained of every possible emotion, the side of her face pressed against Benji, what a sudden, horrid thought entered her head.  
  
She had utterly forgotten why she had come here. She had promised Rose.  
  
Inhaling deeply, Luck raised her head, pulling away from Benji. "Benji, I have to tell you something."  
  
He looked down at her, the tired trails of tears prominent on his features and his crosswise hair glimmering in the bars of moonlight that snaked through the window. "What is it, Lux?" he asked softly.  
  
Luxy took in a breath, and turned, slowly striding over to the window, resting her palms on it, Benji taking her lead and joining her, his elbow raised elbow being perched on one of the vertical frame-boards.  
  
Her hand involuntarily went to her left cheeks, her fingers trailing over the ungodly scar. "Benji, its about that night."  
  
Benji's gaze flickered from the moonlit sky to Luxy. "What?" he asked, unable to hide the incredulity from his voice.  
  
She kept her gaze forward, staring at the dark tenement building across the way, her expression somber and sorrowful, and her fingers encircling the scar. "The scar. That day. How I got the scar. I knew you always wondered but I couldn't say."  
  
"Jesus, Lux, then tell me," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and turning her. She resisted and only allowed her eyes to flutter to him for a moment before she trained them through the window once more, the darkness swirling together. "That day, I ran. I ran and I saw they you weren't behind me and I got scared--" She halted, feeling emotion impeding her speech, as his grip got tighter. "I-I panicked. And I got scared because no one else was out-but then I saw a man." She turned her head so their gazes were locked. "It was Mr. Antonelli."  
  
Benji raised a brow. "Mr. Antonelli?"  
  
Luxy nodded. "You know how people always say he's a child mole easter and how he collects little girls-well he was about to put me in his collection."  
  
Absolute astonishment crossed Benji's face as he clamped both his hands on either of her shoulders. "Luxy, what the hell are you trying to say?"  
  
Luxy lowered her head and stared at the singed floor, the feeling of that day taking a strong hold upon her. "He-he attacked me and, oh Christ, Benji the way he was jist looking at me and then I ran and he ran and he got me and starting attacking and he took off my underpants and--" Her words were becoming marred by tears. "But I ran and I got shelter and then when I was going to Tibby's he caught me and he caught me and he tried it again and said that if I, if I told anyone he would hear and he would kill my family."  
  
Luxy had completely broken down and Benji could only regard her, stunned. "Christ, Lux."  
  
She released a sob and fell against him, feeling as though a marvelously empowering and heavy weight had been lifted from her chest.  
  
"And that's what that damn gash was from?"  
  
She nodded into his chest.  
  
"Jesus, Lux," Benji murmured, bewildered, placing a hand to his brow and causing strands of hair to stand straight, "why the hell didn't you tell me this before."  
  
Luxy shook her head, shrugging her shoulders. "I-I couldn't because I was so afraid, terrified and I saw those eyes everywhere. And I realized that I jist had to tell you--"  
  
Benji could not respond for he was too utterly stunned by the revelation.  
  
Indeed, it did feel as though some heavy burden had been miraculously lifted from her for it seemed as though she could breath now, save for the constricting convulsions.  
  
Alas, Luxy's deplores were halted as a horrifying, high-pitch scream shattered the air.  
  
With a gasp, she had raised her head, the hair still standing on the back of her neck and the awful echo still reverberating through her head.  
  
"What in Christ's name was that?" Benji implored, as they both peered out the window.  
  
Luxy could only shake her head, yet felt her blood run cold and another series of screams were produced-and as a light flared on in her apartment across the way.  
  
Her breath caught painfully in her throat as she brought her hand to her mouth. "Oh, God, no. Oh, God, no?"  
  
"What the hell is it, Lux?" Benji asked again, his voice strained.  
  
Yet, Luxy could only remain paralyzed, her pounding heart sounding tenfold in her ears. Her mind had created a reason for the terrible cries, but she forced herself avidly not to believe it.  
  
However, her utmost fears were confirmed as the light shone on once again, revealing the indisputable figure of Mr. Antonelli at the window of her apartment, a maniacal expression etched onto his features and a glittering butchers knife stained with deep red glittering in the moonlight.  
  
Luxy stepped back, her hand still clutched to her mouth and her unbelieving eyes locked onto his malevolent, wild ones. "NOOO!" She released a breathtaking scream. "NOOOOO! JESUS CHRIST NO!"  
  
Benji allowed his befuddled gaze to flicker between Mr. Antonelli's figure and Luxy's mask of immortal terror. Then a notion suddenly creeped into his mind and he released a gasp.  
  
"Luxy, he doesn't--" Yet, she interrupted him, her voice at an insane pitch. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK HE'S DOING? HAVING TEA?"  
  
Benji allowed his jaw to drop as his head snapped back to the window, only to find that Mr. Antonelli had disappeared.  
  
It was looking into Benji's wide eyes that Luxy heard the audible moans of the apartment stairs in the adjacent tenement house.  
  
And suddenly she knew she was in a dream. One big messy dream that was going to end. She only needed to tell herself to wake up.  
  
She started mumbling rapidly to herself these words as she felt the wind being knocked out of her as Benji sharply pushed her forward. Nausea took control and the world seemed to be swirling about as though she was the axiom.  
  
She had not an iota of reasoning as of how Benji pushed her out of that apartment and down the flights of steps, the first floor landing collapsing under their weight and sending them down screaming to the hard, scorched floor below, piles of splintered wood and ash raining down on them.  
  
She was weak and half-insane as Benji grabbed her in the sea of debris and roused her to her feet, violently shoving her forward and out the door of the broken building, the night's humidity causing her to grow faint.  
  
Yet, she ran. The heels of her shoes against the pavement, and of Benji's, and of Mr. Antonelli's filled her ears, combining in unison with the rhythmic, labored breathing of her heart. Mr. Antonelli's high hollers and lewd cries and Benji's harsh breathing drilled themselves into her head. Violent colors rushed through her brain as they surrounding began to waver, blur.  
  
Luxy released a cry as she felt Benji place a hand on her torso and ferociously shove her sideways, causing her to stumble in gait as she was pitched to her side. Dull shots of pain radiated throughout her body, as she realized that he had shoved her into an abandoned alleyway.  
  
Benji was leaning against the side of one of the building that encapsulated the alley, his palms flat against the side and his breathing impossibly heavy.  
  
As she regarded him, she pondered if this is what it felt like when he realized that he was alone in the world and if she would have to become a drunk carrying a flask in her garter just to escape the reality of the sweatshop-  
  
And suddenly the numbness wore away and she was left vulnerable and open and reality brutally and unmercifully hit her like a train collision in her mind.  
  
Her haunting, mammalian-like howls spliced through the hot June night, as Benji stumbled over to her and sank beside her and clasp a hand over her mouth.  
  
She found herself incomprehensibly shrieking how this could have happened, how he could have known, the anguish, torment, agony that surged throughout her too excruciatingly impossible to bear.  
  
And she only heard Benji murmuring something that he had learned from his ma last fall that Mr. Antonelli had had a mute brother and he had had to lean how to read lips.  
  
Yet, it was too much, all too much to bear on Luxy Listin for she felt as though these events were too advanced for a mind only thirteen years to the day in age. She felt herself suffocating, the darkness too heavy to withstand.  
  
She soon drifted into unconsciousness, the unbearable pain slipping away for a few precious moments, only to be dealt with later. 


	10. Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE  
  
Benjamin Conlon did not go to work that day, nor the day after that, nor the day after that.  
  
If fact, it had been precisely one week from the day that he had set foot inside the oppressing atmosphere of the factory.  
  
The past seven days--they had been so long yet so slow. Of course, he knew the outside world was still functioning in its normal schedule around him, yet it seemed like he was in his own personal reverie. That he felt somewhat like the goldfish Jimmy Vita down the street used to have in the glass container. He could see the world clearly, yet somehow there was a tainting to it. And although he could behold the world, he was isolated from the world and the world was isolated from him.  
  
And he had started walking. He had never really enjoyed walking before. As a child his motto had been: "Why walk when you can run?" Yet, he was a child no more, and true he still resembled a child in some ways, yet his mind had been scarred thoroughly enough with the trials of the real world that now he acted like an adult, even if he always didn't think like one.  
  
Waking was peaceful and calming too. Over the past spring, he had become quite fond of the bottle, and now he walked to fight his cravings. He had always drank himself to a stupor, reasoning that being in this melancholy state would not solve his problems but banish them for a few precious hours. Yet, the coins he had earned working in the factory had been squandered on the alcohol and he had nothing left. Nothing to support Luxy and he on, and especially not enough capital to purchase more booze.  
  
So he walked.  
  
He especially liked to walk at the crack of dawn, when the sky was still stained with black from the previous night and the moon and stars still lingered above, yet when the sun was just starting to awake from its slumber and its first rays would shoot through the black and begin to paint the heavens with dreamy colors.  
  
It was in those few moments that the summer's smoldering humidity had not been released yet and before the air was shattered by all the audible shouts and yells of the world.  
  
And he walked in those breathless, surreal moments just as he did now, his scoffed shoes the only sound, echoing down the cobblestone walks of unknown streets. A scarcity of a light zephyr brushed against his beaten face, blowing his slovenly hair about. He raised his head, closing his eyes, taking in the wonderful breeze, his left-hand absentmindedly going to the hilt of his late father's cane.  
  
Benji abruptly released a growl of pain, winced, and allowed his eyes to open. He removed his hand from the hilt and held it up. Ever since the fall in the late winter, his wrist had never healed properly and it still hurt like a bitch. It was another reason to avoid the factory: the agonizing pain hindered him from any hard labor.  
  
His features still set in pain, he wound his fingers around the injured wrist, continuing in his aimless journey. Yet the night was dimming and the sky was being electrified with the violent colors of the early sun. The first sounds of the morning were filling his ears.  
  
He released a sigh, a shock of red anger surging through him, yet he quickly shook it off by sucking in deep breaths and quickening his pace. It had been a week since his last drink, and ever since then, he had been going through a type of withdrawal, liable to be quite irritable or nauseous at a moment's notice. The yearning for the wonderful liquid trickling down his throat and soothing the dastardly cravings was always present, like some horrid dark cloud eternally stationed above his crown, yet he somehow sustained himself.  
  
The night had now all but disappeared and the bright sun was beginning to shine its face, rising above the skyline of the buildings.  
  
Benji elicited an exhalation. The same portrait of serene peacefulness would have to wait again until tomorrow. He lowered his head and set his features. He needed to get back to Luxy. As though he did not have enough to deal with, he had to care for another human being. Though, he thought of it as just a warped view of early fatherhood.  
  
Reaching the curb, he quickly looked both ways and tottered off the rise of stones, crossing the street to Jefferson Avenue. He knew this path all to uncannily well.  
  
The city was beginning to awake as he crossed roads and cut through alleyways. Voices stained the air like the forever droning of a hive of bees and the hooves of horses were heard against the cobblestones.  
  
Releasing a sigh, he entered the familiar alley flanked by the Italian restaurant infested with cockroaches and the old general store.  
  
He began down the alley, this world suddenly cast over with dark shadows. Shards of broken glass lay shattered, glitter-shot in the bars of sunlight that dare stream into the forbidding place. Inconspicuous rats scurried about, their pitter-patters echoed off the moist brick walls.  
  
The dank atmosphere almost always consumed him. For some reason only the Lord knew why, the alley seemed to soak up every iota of moisture, causing a moldy, pungent smell to always be present. Yet, when the blistering sun would arise to its peak, the blazing heat would always cover the alley like a shroud, mixing with the damp smell and amplifying it tenfold. For the first few days, he had spilled his guts by the crates at the end of the alley because the odor had made him to overwhelmingly nauseous.  
  
But those days had only been when Luxy had seemed to need him the most. Now in that span he usually exited the grotesque alleyway, only returning around late evening. How Luxy could withstand it all day, he had not a fathom of a guess.  
  
Benji approached the termination of the alley, the toes of his shoes kicking up dirt, as his eyes fell upon Luxy.  
  
She was lying on her side near the back wall; her arms and legs sprawled in all directions, her long tangles of filthy hair spread out about her, and clad in only ripped clothing besmeared with dirt. She was asleep, yet she was twitching sporadically, and murmuring under her breath.  
  
He cocked a brow in curiosity and padded over to her, falling to his haunches in front of her, regarding her silently.  
  
She flinched yet again in her slumber, her features twisting. "No," she muttered. "No, don't, no stop."  
  
She halted for a moment, before her body erupted into a string of convulsions, her expression that of utter mortal terror. "No! No! Please!" her voice was high and hysterical. "Please don't! Mr. Antonelli-DON'T!"  
  
On the utterance of that name, Benji pressed a hand to her torso and harshly rocked her, until she abruptly awoke with a great cry, her eyes staring at him wide and full of fear. She released a gasp and jerked her body away from his hand, her breathing heavy.  
  
"Luxy," Benji said calmly, "you'se was having a nightmare."  
  
Luxy considered him, her eyes wide and scanning his face, her mouth gapped.  
  
He released a sigh. "Lux, it wasn't real. Mr. Antonelli isn't here--"  
  
As if on cue, Luxy's eyes narrowed and her lips curled as she thrust herself to her feet. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO MENTION THAT NAME!" she shrieked, wavering the gathering heat, as with a cry she had taken off, throwing herself behind a pile of warped cream-colored crates, sending a few tumbling off their tower.  
  
Benji's gaze followed her, before he released a futile sigh, letting his feet fall from under him so he sat on the damp ground, his back against a wall. "At least she's speaking," he said to himself, a note of sarcasm laced with in his tone.  
  
He allowed for his head to fall against the wall, the damp phosphorescent mold cushioning his crown.  
  
It had happened a full week ago, yet for some queer reason it seemed that it had just occurred yesterday. He couldn't of course remember the details or the surroundings, he had been too utterly drunk to fathom a thing. Yet, he did recall the emotions.  
  
The emotions.  
  
He felt his throat constrict as he tilted his head and as he tried to force air down his narrow trachea.  
  
The alley suddenly seemed fantastically claustrophobic and the repulsive odor of the dankness seemed to increment sharply.  
  
Benji quickly drew in a breath as he pushed off his right hand, helping himself to his feet. He felt a cold sweat appear on his flesh, chilling him even though the sun was already on the brink of smoldering. He stumbled forward a step, feeling lightheaded and weak, as he ran a forearm over his clammy brow and a hand through his hair.  
  
"Luxy," he said, his eyes shut and hand to his forehead, trying feverishly to rid himself of the waves of nausea. "Luxy, I have to go. I'se goin' to the factory-we'se need money to buy food-I'll be back later."  
  
And without waiting for a reply from her, he had started, his stride erratic, shoes pressing into the moist ground of the alleyway, desperate to be rid of the dizziness that was devouring his brain. He finally reached the threshold of the bright world, and without a second thought he had set foot into it, the fulminating sounds of life filling his ears and causing his eardrums to rupture. He turned sharply right, cutting the corner short and slicing his exposed flesh on the side of the general store. Though, he was not paying heed, for he had his first three fingers pinched tightly to the bridge of his nose as his eyes sporadically pressed tightly together.  
  
He had killed them. Killed them all.  
  
Benji had not comprehended it at the time-watching Mr. Antonelli smile that ghastly bright smile from Luxy's bedroom and brandish the knife with the crimson blood cascading down the blade. It had somehow been instinct to push Luxy out of the house. It had only when they had been running in that sickening single-file line with the only sound in the world that of their feet pounding against the walk, that a shard of understanding suddenly seeped into his brain. And he had pushed Luxy into the alleyway.  
  
He released a gasp and his eyes fluttered open, and he swerved, nearly missing slamming into a pedestrian.  
  
Mr. Antonelli had murdered all of them. Anthony, Nathalie, Anastacia, Lynn, Antonio, Peter, and Philip Listin. All save Luxy.  
  
All the Listins were dead. All save Luxy.  
  
What was the reason that Mr. Antonelli had killed them all? Oh, yeah, right. He had tried to nab Luxy and put her in his collection. But she hadn't gone with him. Now her family was dead, just like his family, he brutally thought.  
  
Another excruciating sensation was starting near the base of his skull, as though it were ravaging his cerebellum. Benji winced deeply in agony. The pain was that to rival the shocks he felt whenever his father used to bash him in the head with that damned cane-the damned cane that was situated in his belt loops at this moment.  
  
Benji continued on his aimless travails, the scorching sun boring down upon him. He hadn't informed Luxy, but he had attained a copy of The World the day after the slayings. The article had been insignificant, back page material-after all, it only was Italians. The bodies had been found: two adults and three juveniles. Their execution had been that of a very rushed and expeditious murder; their necks had been slashed. No suspect had been apprehended and there were no leads.  
  
Most likely this case would be like all of the other countless ones that occurred in the slums: the police would carelessly toss the file into a filing cabinet and allow it to collect dust until it was erased from memory or had disintegrated.  
  
But Antonelli had done it-Mr. Antonelli. Benji now felt utterly foolish now that that all the intricate pieces of the puzzle now fit perfectly. His sober conscious almost felt liable for her and for all that had befallen upon them-if only he had of chased after her that day then she would have never encountered Mr. Antonelli-and now her parents were dead and his were dead and he was to support them?  
  
He released a breathless gasp and clutched the bridge of his nose tighter. His brain felt want to combust at any moment. He was only thirteen goddamn years old. So, why in the hell was this massive bundle placed upon him? It was though Anthony Conlon was getting sweet satisfaction from beyond the grave by forcing his son into a state of paranoia-if he was out waltzing about the streets and Mr. Antonelli was out waltzing the streets and he wasn't there with Luxy, couldn't Mr. Antonelli find her and kill her then? And what would occur if he were to find her mutilated corpse stained with deep crimson?  
  
The pain in his skull amplified itself tenfold as he silently bartered with his consciousness not to reply to that query.  
  
And Benji Conlon felt the overwhelming sensations consume him, only to shatter to a million of shards as his shoulder roughly grazed against a pedestrian passing him in the opposite direction. His eyes immediately fluttered open as he halted and spun about, poised to apologize sincerely to that of whom he had offended. "I'se sorry," he issued rather quickly, not allowing eye contact with the latter.  
  
Alas, there was a substantial bout of silence, and Benji finally raised his eyes, recognizing the visage he saw without a second notion. The bright, dark brown eyes of Jack Kelly stared back at him, his lips drawn up in a slight smile. Over his arm he still carted a staggering pile of newspapers, as he had the day Benji had encountered him for the maiden time-and the day Luxy had been mortally violated.  
  
"Why, hey, I know youse! From dat day-at Medda's! Yeah, you had the broken wrist. Spot!"  
  
For a moment, Benji regarded the grinning boy with sheer incredulity. Spot? He almost had the nerve to glance over his shoulder to see if he was addressing someone else. Yet, no-- Jack Kelly's sparkling eyes stayed transfixed to Benji's exhausted green ones.  
  
"'Scuse me?" Benji inquired, cocking a brow.  
  
Jack elicited a laugh, shifting the heavy load of newspapers on his shoulder. "Spot, remember? You had the shiner." He made a motion with his head. "Seems like it never went away."  
  
As the namesake clicked in Benji's brain, his fingers of his left hand found their way to the flesh underneath his eye. He was met by a dull shot of pain, which made him slightly cry out. This blacken eye was too fresh to be the workings of Luxy Listin. No, Benji recalled as a grand shudder wrought its way down his spine, this bruise was courtesy of a repulsive Polish worker in the factory. The slovenly Pole had cornered Benji in a desolate part of the factory one-day a few weeks back and had wanted Benji to perform oral sex upon him. Benji had refused and the Pole had given him a nasty beating for his insolence.  
  
The painful memory vanished and Benji locked eyes with Jack. "Yeah, Spot," he murmured, forcing a smile.  
  
Jack's grin only grew broader as he observed Benji's hand. "Still have ya hand wrapped in me bandanna?"  
  
Benji immediately allowed his arm to fall lax to his side. "Yea-Yeah. Here, you can have it back though if ya want--"  
  
Jack simply raised a hand and shook his head. "Nah, you keep it, Spot. Need it more than me. Say, I remember that day ya was lookin' for that broad- Luxy was her name?"  
  
Benji nodded his head.  
  
"D'ya ever find 'er?" Jack implored, inclining his head.  
  
Benji felt the air being purloined from his lungs as his psyche was bombarded with fantastically excruciating notions, and he digested these as he formed the only reply he could muster, "Yeah."  
  
Jack Kelly's smile grew as he stepped back, shifting his heavy load once more. "Well, Spot, that's good, that's good." He motioned to his newspapers. "Well, business is business and these suckers are heavy as hell and I'se gotta sell a good quota."  
  
Benji listlessly nodded as he murmured a reply to Jack, who tipped his cowboy hat as he strolled along.  
  
Benji then felt the breath being restored to him, and he exhaled deeply, as he just took notice of the beads of perspiration that saturated his flesh from the smoldering sun. He lethargically picked up his heels, depression conquering him as a coldness pierced his heart. He must go to the factory today; there was no other way to sustain both he and Luxy if he did not have money.  
  
And then he was halted, a familiar voice calling out his name from behind him. He turned on his heel to find Jack Kelly had stopped and was hollering out Spot, not Benji. Benji was stunned how easily he seemed to answer to this new pet name. It was wonderful to be called a name that was not a profanity for once.  
  
"Hey, Spot! Have any plans tahnight?" Jack inquired in a raised voice.  
  
Benji shook his head. "No!"  
  
Jack erupted into that wonderful smile as he cried, "Good. Then ya invited to a poker party tahnight! Over at the Manhattan Newsboys Lodgin' House! All the booze, girls, and poker you could ever want!"  
  
Benji's eyes grew bright. "Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House?  
  
Jack nodded. "Yeah! Ask around! It ain't that hard to find. So, can I count ya in?"  
  
Innumerable thoughts streamed through Benji's mind. Of course he could not attend this poker game with some newsboys. He had to go to the factory and watch over Luxy-yet he found his lips opening and his voice answering in the affirmative.  
  
"Good!" Jack called back. "See ya there tahnight then!"  
  
And with that, Jack Kelly turned, as the melodic tune of Home, Home On The Range escaped his lips, his cowboys hat prominent in the masses of crowds.  
  
Benji smiled, the first honest-to-goodness, genuine smile since before his parent's demise, a time that seemed epochs ago. He watched until Jack had disappeared, yet the memories of the boy still lingered on. He didn't work in the factory. He was a newsies and he aspired to become a cowboy in his adult life.  
  
And a revelation suddenly clicked within Benjamin Conlon's mind-a fantastically simple one at that. As he ran it through his brain, his smile only became broader until he was prompted to whisper a phrase he had a week to the day before, only then it had been under utterly different circumstances.  
  
"Fuck the factory."  
  
And with that, he turned and strode down the hot sidewalk, weaving through the pedestrians, whistling Home, Home On The Range, pondering how he was going to steal Luxy and his meals for the day, yet more importantly, the utter elation and anticipation that welled inside of him at the mere thought of the twilight's poker game. 


	11. Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN 

In the distance, thunder clapped boldly in the sultry summer night. Luxy did not bother counting to find the intermitting extent for when it would strike again. For all her insane mind could comprehend, lightening could strike the tenement house and send the whole apartment to hell.

Pure, unadulterated silence was heavy in the darkness that covered the area like a shroud, seeping into the rotted wooden floorboards at her feet and under the decaying plank of wood that was the door before her. She studied the chipping paint on the door—a hasty shade of piss yellow—but saw only red--lovely, lovely chartreuse, carmine, and scarlet to rival the licking fires of Hell.

She shifted her weight hastily, impatiently from one foot to the other, the floor whining under her weight. The night was sweltering, blistering—too hot for her liking, really. Her parched hair fell like straw down her back, clinging to her like a sweaty cape. She released an audible, childish sigh. She brought a hand from behind her back and held it aloft, forming a fist. She rapped slightly, daintily on the door. Silence was her reply.

She knocked again, harder and with more force this time. She felt a passion begin to fill her as the knocks grew outrageously loud. She suddenly halted, calming herself and becoming cool again.

This time she heard a voice from inside, a gruff Italian voice that had just woken from a deep slumber. "Who the hell is there? What do you goddamned want?"

In acknowledgment she knocked once.

"What the fuck do you want? Why you goddamned wake me up at this hour?" The voice was closer, louder, just behind the door this time. She felt her blood begin to rush, course throughout her veins, hotly. Involuntarily, every muscle in her body tensed. A wild desire touched her lips and pulled them back into a smile. The door opened.

He stood before her in the dark, his features mostly covered by the thick shadows. From what she could discern, his inky black eyes were dead with sleep, his cheeks flushed from anger, and his thick mass of greasy black hair out of it's queue, touching his shoulders. He stood behind the door mostly, his head peaking out of the cracked door. "What do you goddamned want?" he silibated in his thick accent.

She could hardly speak; her chest was strangled and bound in such animal anticipation. She stepped forward, the off smile still on her lips. He regarded her. "Well?" he hissed furiously.

She reciprocated the stare, her eyes wild and her smile deadly. "Hello, Mr. Antonelli. My name is Luxy Listin. I live below you. I believe you killed my family."

He stared into her face, so young and insane, before he stumbled away from the door, disbelieving what he saw. Her smile grew as she stepped into the apartment, and brought her hands from behind her back, revealing the gleaming knife. He regarded the weapon, the sleep deftly dissipating from them. The arrogance in his voice betrayed them. "What you gonna do with the knife, little girl, kill old Anthony?" He threw his head back and released a hearty laugh.

The laughter resonated in her head like the deepest migraine. "No," she calmly and frankly said, raising the blade aloft, "I am going to make the walls run red with your blood."

He had not had time to fully comprehend what the small girl had said before he felt the impeccably sharp tip rip into the soft flesh of his neck. He reacted violently, stumbling backwards, placing his hands to his throat and gurgling blood, but to no avail. She had already sliced him ear to ear. And she was only beginning her act of vengeance. As she straddled him, his screams bothered her immensely. She wanted to silence them so she raised the blade even further over her head.

She had gone mad. Stark raving mad.

"So, Spot, what is your story?"

Benjamin Conlon raised his head sharply from the fan of cards he held before him. He was about to scan the other guys in the group, but the Italian had his eyes on him. "You mean me?" he blurted inadvertently.

This elicited friendly snickers from the boys at the poker table. Benji could feel his cheeks heat up fantastically as he sunk lower in his seat, trying to hide his flaming face behind his cards. He was not accustomed to the appellation that Jack had bestowed upon him. Throughout the night when the other newsies had addressed him as Spot, he had looked over his shoulder to see if they were speaking to someone else save him, although they always had their eyes on him.

He raised his eyes to the Italian's again. They were brown and very deep, as though they were pondering him closely. He removed his cigar from his lips and blew a set of immaculate smoke circles into the sky, lazy wisps of white ghosts. "Yeah. I mean you."

Benji swallowed deeply, appraising the loaded question in his head, with all sets of eyes upon him. He stumbled for an answer, not sure if he was ready or willing to share pain that immense and overpowering as he had experienced. He had since then learned to keep it sealed inside a deep, dark chasm in his heart, never to be open or exposed again. So he concocted the first lie that came to mind. He lived Luxy's pain for a while. "My family was murdered a few years back. The tenant that lived above us went insane or something."

"Killed 'em all?" the boy with the shock of blonde hair and the patch asked incredulously. Benji nodded at him, trying to recall his name. Beside him, Boots let out a long, low whistle.

A silence fell over them, Racetrack blowing his lazy, perfect rings of smoke again, before Jack leaned forward, startling Benji. "Hey Spot, what ever happened to that one broad you was lookin' for that one day? What was her name? Did ya ever find her?"

Benji's eyes widened at the thought of Luxy. He had left her in the alley in a wonderful rage. She was finally almost thinking normally again, and now that she talked she more or less bitched than murmured incoherently as she had. She had bitched to him that she was hungry and wanted food. She bitched that he should be in the fucking factory working for food. She bitched where was he going with a new pair of pants and hat? She bitched for him just leaving her starving. She bitched that when he came back she would have been so hungry she would have eaten her own goddamn leg. She had then hurled a brick at him, that of which he did not witness for he was storming towards the sidewalk already. It had chipped him brutally on the shoulder and he screamed and uttered a noise like he had before only when his mother died in his arms. So he went back to her and while she was still bitching he created a fist and struck her across the mouth. The sheer surprise of it had flung her backwards and she fell on her ass among some crates. She looked at him, utterly stunned and incredulous. Her face began to twitch and her eyes glimmered and for a minute he was going to lend her his hand but then her face had twisted into a mask of rage and she began to bitch—to scream. _You son of a bitch! Just like your goddamned father! You are just like your goddamned father!_

The words rang loudly in his ears and he still could not shake the chill they brought. She had to alluded to him reliving his father's behavior once again, he had promised himself not to do it again. Jack's words shattered his thoughts. "Well, did ya?"

His eyes flirted to Jack's before returning to his cards. "Yeah, Cowboy, yeah I did."

Jack's lips pulled back into a mischievous smile on his handsome face and his eyes panned over his boys. "I bet she was so happy for you rescuing her that she would have done anything for ya, Spot. Right, anything?" He nudged Benji in the ribs with an elbow.

Benji glanced at Jack and did not respond to his glowing eyes and beaming smirk.

Mush was leaning forward, forearms lying on the card table. "So did you really get laid?"

The remark elicited boos and hisses from the newsies as some threw their cards at Mush. "What?" he cried. "I was just interested!"

"Oh come on ya bunch of assholes!" Racetrack yelled, throwing his cards down on the table. "Are we gonna keep with the pillow talk or play some fuckin' poker or what?"

The newsies broke up into shouts of agreement. Once they were settled, the Italian's deep brown eyes were upon Benji again. "Well, what do you raise, Conlon?"

You son of a bitch. Just like your goddamned father. You are just like your goddamned father.

"Five, Race. Five."

She stood outside the building, blistering sun bearing down on her tanned shoulders, and mouth in the palm of her hand. Staring at the redbrick façade, she gingerly rubbed her fingers over the glorious welt that adorned her lower jaw. Mapping it, she reached a sensitive spot and released a howl, dropping her arm to her side in fury. "Just like his goddamned father. He is just like his goddamned father," she hissed in a low voice before entering the building and throwing open the door. Immediately she was overwhelmed with the powerful, yet familiar, scent of lavender. She curled her toes on the plush carpeting. It was a welcoming relief to her aching feet.

Luxy took a few precautionary steps forward, trying to discern where the Madame of the Red Bull was. Under the archway of ornate staircase that lead to the second floor was the parlor fashioned in a décor of deep red and green velvets. Lola had her back to Luxy, and in her melodic accent was seducing her customers' ears of all the wild and exotic fantasies that the upstairs chambers held. The Madame had not always been so fond of Luxy visiting Rose Danson when one of her most popular ladies should be hard at work keeping the male customers thoroughly entertained with her charms.

Keeping the back of Lola's head under deep scrutiny, she made a quick dash to the staircase. It ran parallel to the hallway that served as the entrance before making a sharp curved right that led to the second floor and subsequently to the third. Luxy's bare feet thudded against the highly shined hardwood stairs until they reached the wonderful plush of the dark blue carpet that lined the hallway. Banishing the moans and screams of orgasmic pleasure from her ears, Luxy hurriedly made her way down to the fifth door on the right—Rose's room.

She rapped brusquely to no reply. After another series of knocks, she croaked out Rose's name. Inferring that the scarlet woman may perhaps be in the power room or such, Luxy slowly opened the door before she peered her head in. "Rose?" she inquired in an unsure voice. She pushed the door open, and it swung neatly inward, revealing the lavish purple and violet scape of the room. Luxy warily took a step into the room, her arches sinking into the deep carpeting. "Rose?" she called out again, her eyes panning the room.

Before her, there was a rustling from the power room, and in an instant the door was flung open. Luxy relaxed and she exhaled deeply. "Oh, Rose," she signed, "I didn't know where you…were..." The words died on her lips as her eyes finally transfixed on the woman before her. On a first glance she had mistaken her for Rose, yet with further scrutiny, Luxy could determine she was indeed not. Clad in a striking lavender bustier, the girl was tall, much taller than Rose's petite frame had been. The spirals of flame red hair that trailed down her back caught the light and made it dance. Her face was nearly identical to Rose—the dramatic cosmetics enhanced her features—but perhaps more narrow in the jaw and chin.

The woman before her was indeed not Rose Dawson yet she was in Rose Danson's room.

"Who are you?" the girl snapped in a pronounced Brooklyn accent at the same moment Luxy cried, "Where is Rose?"

The girl's handsome features softened before registering surprise. "You knew my mother?"

"Your mother?" Luxy replied incredulously, confusion consuming her brain and having a delicious time.

"Yes, my mother," the girl said, stepping forward from the powder room and into the bedroom. "You knew my mother Rose?"

Luxy stumbled backwards in disbelief, attempting to make justifiable what the girl was telling her. She then recalled a conversation she had had with Rose when they first met. She had explained that she was in prostitution so that she would be able to support her daughter. Ruby. She raised her eyes to the girl's. "Are you Ruby?" she said in an unsteady voice.

She acknowledged the name with a nod, and approached Luxy, a grim smile adorning her visage. "Yes, I am Ruby," she said in a broken voice, her eyes glancing over the room before falling to Luxy. The brilliant green orbs burned into her. "You asked for my mother. Why?"

Luxy did not comprehend what she was asking of. "I asked for your mother because Rose lives here. In this room. I came to see her. Where is she?"

Ruby's gaze faltered as she released a slight sob. Her posture collapsed and she placed her spread palms on the vanity to support her. Her hair fell forward, contrasting with her pale, creamy skin, disguising her countenance from Luxy. Her shoulders heaved harshly, before she seemed to compose herself. She turned to Luxy, her eyes glistening and the kohl liner streaming down her face. "My mother…she…she…she had had some kind of disease…goddamned syphilis. She had it for such a long time and Lola told her to quit…to go home and live what time she had. But she said she couldn't. She said she had me to take care of. She died a few weeks ago. It finally took her, God rest her soul."

The words took Luxy like a stab wound to the heart. She had barely known Rose Danson, but the scarlet woman had been her Good Samaritan and had saved her body from Mr. Antonelli. And now she was dead. Luxy Listin then knew she had no one on this God forsaken earth. A feeling of absolute and total foreboding washed over her body in a wave that was so forceful she nearly fell to the ground. She was suddenly very cold despite the impossible heat of the room and her mouth hurt very much.

Ruby Dawson's hard voice broke her reverie into a million shards. "I came here right after she died. She had debts to her name but she was a good woman and I wasn't gonna let anyone say anything bad about my mamma's name. So I come to Lola and I says, 'Lola, give me a job. I need to keep my mamma's name good.'" She raised her eyes to Luxy. "She did it for me, you know? All this for me. It's the least that I can do for her. The least that I can do."

Luxy's voice was void of emotion. "So you do this for your mother?"

Ruby nodded slowly, inhaling deeply and running her fingers under her eyes, wiping away the excess liner. "Yes. And soon I can have her debts paid off. Real soon. My mamma was one of the most popular ones here—I mean the men loved her. Since I am basically parading as her, I figure I can make enough money to pay off her debts and maybe scrap together something to make a life for myself."

Luxy regarded her. "How old are you?"

At the question, Ruby's cheeks flushed in embarrassment and she bowed her head. She languidly strode over to the vibrant canopy bed and held a piece of the drapery fabric in her grasp, absentmindedly playing with it. "Thirteen. I just turned thirteen. Though it helps to look older, I guess." She turned to Luxy. "I never did get your name. What did you say it was?"

Her face was hard, cold. "I didn't," she breathed slightly. "It's Luxy."

Ruby slowly approached her, a frown touching her lips and concern burrowed deeply within the lines of her face. She placed her fingers to Luxy's chin and raised her head so their eyes locked. "What happened to you Luxy?"

Luxy released a listless sigh, entirely too weary to forge any wrath for the pain Benji had inflicted upon her. "Just a scuffle with my brother."

Ruby regarded her with a raised eyebrow of disbelief, before relinquishing and pulling her fingers lightly away. "If I may be frank with you, Luxy, you look like shit." Luxy's eyes widened in incredulity. The red head smirked and tossed her head towards the power room. "Why don't you do yourself a favor and get a bath. You can take one if you don't mind the, ah, theatrics. I got a customer coming soon and I think you need it more than me."

Before she could manage a reply, Ruby Danson was ushering her like a child into the powder room, and in the midst of the white-tiled floor. Ruby leaned in the doorway and casually motioned with a hand, prattling off a tour of the room. "You got a bath, left nozzle is hot and right is cold. Soap and all that shit is in the set of drawers underneath the vanity." She quickly turned over her shoulder when she heard a curt rapping on the door.

"Ruby Red! Oh Ruby Red, are you in there?" a rich male baritone called.

Ruby elicited a sigh and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Will! Coming! Coming!" She turned towards Luxy. "I think that's about all you will need. Now if you will excuse me I have some business to attend to."

Without passing another glance at Luxy, the beautiful whore pushed off the door frame and on her long legs—"she's a tall drink of water" as Benji would have said—strode seductively across the room and to the main door before throwing it open and issuing a string of sultry welcomes to her customer. Luxy did not attend to anymore for she slammed the door with a hit of her palm. The joyful voices muffled in the background, she issued a tremendous sigh. Placing her hands on her forehead, and then running them through her slovenly hair, she lethargically shuffled over to the ostentatious mahogany vanity. She placed her inverted palms on the smooth surface of the furniture and arched her back, dropping her head between her taunt arms.

She raised her head and looked in the gleaming mirror. Despite the olive hue to her skin, the color was beginning to wane. Her ebony hair, unwashed for weeks, was matted to her scalp and saturated with oils. Her eyes were lifeless, vacent,and rimmed with dark circles. Her cheeks were sunken, hollow and the massacre on her lower face did her no justice aesthetically. He had struck her immaculately on the left side of her mouth and of her chin. A fantastic purple welt had developed and her lip was spliced, swelled, and caked with blood.

She resembled a cadaver.

Anger coursed through her veins, thick and fast and hot. In a haze of unbridled fury, she smashed a fist into the mirror, causing the looking glass to shatter to an infinity of shards and rain down. She pulled her hand away, spent, and saw the glass slivers embedded in the soft flesh, saw the blood oozing from the wounds and pouring to the white tiles where it starkly collected.

She drew herself a bath, not touching the hot nozzle, and let the tub fill until the water over-flowed and began to flood the clean floor. She stripped and stepped into the bath. She emerged herself into the frigid water, and began to sob.


	12. Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

She glanced down at her open palms, fingers splayed open. The light from the full moon was dazzling on blood on her hands. She turned them over, in awe of the fluid that ran in the veins of a human could be so dark, so utterly black. So void of any color whatsoever.

A noise resonating from the front of the alley startled her and she quickly raised her eyes. Yet she was alone. Contented with the notion that is was merely a rat; she glanced down to her hands once more. The blood was beginning to congeal between her fingers. She brought her nose to her hands and inhaled. No taste at all. Disappointed, she brought her tongue quickly to her hand and gently flicked at the blood. It had a harsh, metallic twang. She did not cringe in repulsion, yet a small, devious smile alighted upon her lips.

She had collected Mr. Antonelli. Collected and killed the child mol-easter.

A night wind touched her bare shoulders, ruffling her slovenly hair. The night was a strange concoction of hot and cold, signaling the beginning of autumn.

Suddenly, she wanted her family desperately. She threw the blood-licked knife to the alley floor beside her with a shrill cry and pushed the vermilion hands to her face. Luxy began to weep with a vengeance, her entire soul tired and aching.

The blonde's full lips were pulled into a knowing grin. Benji had never seen lips so full and red save for those on the scarlet women. They were round and succulent, like a blood red apple, and he suddenly craved to have them anywhere on his body. His toes began to tingle and he felt himself flush as a warm sensation struck his groin. _Anywhere on his body_.

The blonde noticed this sudden hardness where she straddled him and her grinned widened, her tongue flicking between her lips. "So tell me your name again?" she intoned in a soft purr, arching her back and sliding her chest to his. She now was only clothed in a black corset and undergarments, the outer dressings strewn helter-skelter in the darkened room. A blood-red talon traced erratic paths down his bare chest, stopping just below his navel. Benji felt chills slither down his spine and his face heat up fantastically. He could hardly help but release a small gasp at her motions. "It's Spot," he replied as she began on his belt buckle.

"Spot, is it?" she asked, raising an eye to him. My God, he thought as his belt disappeared, she has fantastic breasts. He nodded his head in response, as her skilled fingers worked at the buttons on his trousers. "Have you known Jack long?" They too had soon joined the mess of clothes that covered the floor.

"What?" he asked in a soft whisper, not comprehending the question. Her hands were encircling his bare thighs. "Jack? You know, Cowboy?" she asked again with a sly smile, her brow arched.

"I don't know," he replied mindlessly as he watched her unhook herself from the corset and let it slide onto the bed. The urge was so great to touch her, to feel every crevice of her beautiful pink body that he had to grasp the sheets until his fingers throbbed. "I go way back with Jack," she said matter-of-factly, raising herself so she could slide easily out of her panties. They were off in a whisper. Benji did not give a fuck how she knew Jack or Cowboy or the man in the moon. He just wanted her. _All _of her.

She leaned over, bringing red siren lips to his ear. Tendrils of her blonde hair fell across his brow. Her breath was hot in his ear and he released a small moan at the sensation of the rush of air in his canal. He knew his veins would explode at the hot fire that was his blood. His body ached in an animalistic desire for her. He had never felt such an overwhelming physical passion to have himself inside someone as he did this girl in all his fourteen years on this earth. Dear, Christ, why did this temptress keep speaking?

"Jack must be a _really_ good friend." She lowered herself onto him and he release a cry of the most exquisite fervor as his mind finally dissolved into flames.

The cobblestone roads were damp from the night rain and a musty smell permeated the air. The streets of the Manhattan slums were desolate, haunted by not a soul save for her. She kept to the alleyways and the facades of the dark, foreboding buildings as best she could.

Before he had struck her, he had told her he was going over to Cowboy's. Cowboy. That no good son on a bitch Cowboy. She had no notion of who he was or what his true appellation was; she only knew she hated him. Despised him. She knew this Cowboy was the reason that Benji had abruptly halted work in the factory. That he was the reason the abysses of her stomach ached with an almost primordial hunger. Benji (or "Spot," as he had taken a liking to be called) had been prattling incessantly of the one he called Cowboy. He had reminded her that he was going to visit Cowboy and some of his friends that night and he would not be back until late. He was already drunk on his ass before he had left.

_You stupid worthless bitch. If you are so goddamned hungry why don't you get up off your own ass and go to the factory. Because your sister was killed and raped there? It served her right getting killed cause I'm sure it was her own fault, spreading her legs like the whore she is! That's it…why don't you go become a whore like your sister. Your _dead_ sister and your _dead_ mother. Someone needs to carry on the family tradition. If I hear you talk to me like that again I will take my dead Daddy's cane here and bash in your fuckin' head. Do you hear me Lux? Goddamned bitch…_

She had hurled the brick at him as he walked away from her in the alleyway. He had then proceeded to pummel her with such ferocity and sheer hatred that it was only when he heard her began to choke to death on her own blood that he halted.

Benji was a mean drunk. Just like his daddy.

Void of any sight and relying on only his sense of touch, Benjamin Conlon arched his lithe back and swung his torso off the bed, grasping a hand about in the dark to find his trousers.

"So you new to this part or something?"

He found them sprawled upon the floor where the blonde had thrown them in the heat of the moment and dug deeply into the pocket, removing the paper and tobacco. "Why you ask?" he questioned matter-of-factly, returning to position on the bed with a grunt and a creak.

The mattress released a moan as it fluxed under her slight weight. He suddenly felt her skin hot and bare next to his. She placed a burning palm on his chest. "Because," she whispered, thrilled, "I would have known _you _if you would have been around for long."

His lips alighted in a smirk as he finished rolling the cigarette and licked the paper. "Is that so?" he echoed.

"God, yes!" she squealed, climbing on him and straddling him under the covers. "I should go scold Cowboy as it is for keeping you hidden for so long from me!"

Benji was silent as he reached to the end table beside the bed for a pack of matches. Fingering one out of the package, he quickly flinted it against the wood so that golden flames erupted from its head, illuminating the blonde's smiling face. He quickly brushed it against his cigarette, and inhaled deeply, soothing his shaky nerves. Even with his eyes downcast, he could tell the slut was beaming, grinning with want, a want to be fucked even more. She was getting impatient, and squirming around on his body.

Benjamin Conlon felt he could heave her off him, get dressed and go home. Back to Luxy, at least. But he had nearly pummeled the damned girl to death. Because she had wanted food, he had strangled her and said he would beat her head in with his Daddy's cane. He hadn't even noticed he was killing her until she had begun to convulse severely under his strong hands and retch shining, red-black blood. It poured from her small mouth, onto her pale skin, and onto his rough hands. He was then suddenly struck, not so much by sobriety but with the realization that he was killing with his bare hands his future wife as her blood oozed onto his hands. He had then released her with a sharp cry, and stepped back. She had collapsed to the ground with an inaudible sound. She was a horrid mess, her throat black with his fingerprints, and the dark blood creating a wonderful starkness with her white skin and ragged shirt. She was a heap of black hair and blood on the ground, heaving and coughing blood and uttering sounds Benji had only heard after Old Man Conlon had come home drunk from the bars and beat his wife to within inches of her life. He could not stand the sight of her, and turned to disgorge his guts in the foul alleyway.

He had taken the alcohol and the girls Cowboy offered him to rid his mind of _her_. But now with the naked blonde writhing upon him, wanting him, be could not even raise his eyes for he feared he could only see _her_, her clothing tattered and throat black with his hands and eyes piercing through the blood.

He exhaled deeply, smoke pouring from his mouth. "So, what do you want to do now?" he heard the blonde ask coyly, a flirt in her voice. He raised his eyes to her and saw Luxy, cold and cadaverous, blood congealed in her chin and green eyes regarding him with accusation. "I have to get some more to drink," he murmured softly, tossing his legs over the side of the bed and raising up to stand on insecure joints. The blonde slid off him rather unhappily and landed with her back on the bed. She considered him with a profound scowl on her full lips as he ambled across the room in the darkness to the window. It was forced open with a dejected sigh. A late summer zephyr slithered through the window, ruffling his slovenly hair.

Raising an arm, he placed a palm above the pane. "I'm sorry, Lux," he murmured as softly as the breeze. His head down, he turned his eyes to his left. She stood there in the tattered, soild men's shirt she had found in a miscellaneous alley. Her matted raven hair was pushed off her face and in the moonlight he could regard the faint scar that ran down her cheek from the Antonelli incident. She cocked her head away from him and the black handprints he could discern on her thin neck resembled a noose. He reached a hand out and cupped her cheek in his palm. He rubbed his thumb against her cold, deadskin. Her green gaze caught his and she regarded him.

Although Benjamin Conlon hardly saw her anymore, Luxy still haunted his thoughts wherever he went.

He suddenly wondered why in the name of Christ he was the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House when all he could see was her.

"So how much do you want?"

Luxy Listin then signed her contract with the Devil. "A quarter," she replied in an uneasy voice, her eyes cautiously surmising the stout shape before her.

The dark figure took a step closer to her, pinning her against the moss-eaten brick wall. His cloaked face hovered directly before hers. "And just why do you think you are worth a whole quarter?" His voice was cracked, raspy, and his breath putrid, a mixture of nicotine, alcohol, and rotting gums.

Luxy could not comprehend an answer to this man's inquiry, yet was only aware of the overwhelmingly powerful feeling of ice cold fear that filled her veins. She attempted to step back, yet the wall hindered her. He had one hand pushed against the wall, his cloaked arm ensnaring her. With his other, he roughly grasped her bare thigh. She uttered a cry of surprise and attempted to struggle away from him, yet he simply took a hand and tightly constricted his fingers around her neck, over the bruises Benji had inflicted earlier. His hand was cold and callused despite the heat of the summer night. Delighting in the young touch of her skin, his hand inched slowly up to her flimsy panties and inside of them. He began to roughly caress her soft flesh with the tips of his fingers, before ripping them off with a snarl.

She elicited a squeal much like that of an animal with the knowledge it is being lead to slaughter would, and began to furiously writhe under him. In denouncing this behavior, the cloaked man released an irritated noise and removed his hand from Luxy, instead curling it into a fist and sending it through the darkened air and into her nose. Luxy emitted a soft gurgle as her knees buckled under her. He had snapped her bridge in two, and black, viscous blood oozed profusely through her nostrils and onto the both of them. Tiny, white fragments of bone were discernable in the sanguineous mess.

"Fucking whore, you no good fucking whore!" the figure screamed in a voice undeniably tainted with rage. He threw Luxy onto the cobblestone ground where she landed, sprawled and delirious from the pain, her buttocks in the air. "All of you no good bitches are the same. Try to con a man out of his hard earned money not even to give him your services?" He brought a thick, black boot down hardly upon her lumbar, eliciting a scream of agony from her as he pushed her ass to the ground. Shifting his weight to the boot on her, Luxy released a discordant gurgle of blood and pain as she felt more bones breaking under him. Grabbing her thick fall of hair within his grasp, he harshly pulled her head up. He released him boot from her and squatted on his haunches over her, still holding her hair. He brought his mouth to her ear. His breath was hot as he spoke. "You want to act like a bad whore? So you will get fucked like one."

Luxy did not know when he had unbuckled his beltand undid his pants, nor could she have comprehended such a thought, but as the hooded figure had promised, he did something the dead Mr. Antonelli never was able to do: fuck her like a whore.

And Ruby Danson had made the profession of ill-repute seem so effortless.


End file.
